


Life Goes On

by stormy1x2



Series: Life Goes On [1]
Category: Aishiteru Baby, Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angsty Schmoop, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Golden Pair - Freeform, M/M, Multiple Crossovers, Silver Pair, So Wrong It's Right, Team Bonding, Team Feels, Team as Family, Teamwork, Tournaments, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-27
Updated: 2012-05-27
Packaged: 2017-11-06 02:39:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/413820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormy1x2/pseuds/stormy1x2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A new year has begun for Fudoumine. Kamio-Buchou tries to run his team, take care of his family, and make something of himself, all without going completely insane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Life Goes On - 1/?

**Author:** Stormy1x2 (travelingstorm)

**Rating:** PG-13 (language)

**Word count for chapter 1(fic portion):** 2899

**Pairings:** Non-specific (for now)

**o0o...o0o...o0o**

**o0o...o0o...o0o**

The alarm went off and Kamio groaned in annoyance, bringing one arm up to block out the stray bits of sunlight filtering in through the window. The other arm fumbled around his bedside shelf, patting random objects until one felt vaguely clock-shaped and _that_ , he pushed off the table top. The clock hit the ground and he could hear the rattling sound of batteries scattering across the floor. He smiled in relief, eyes still closed. At least the beeps had stopped.

He still had to get up though. Kamio wrinkled his nose and tried to work up the energy to sit up. Mornings sucked. He easily ignored the fact that if he was able to get to bed at a decent hour, then he probably wouldn't hate mornings as much as he did. Still, if he lived to be a hundred years old, he didn't think he'd ever become one of those irritating morning-type people – the ones who woke with smile, a jump out of the bed like it pained them stay there a minute longer, and a perky 'good morning' before they'd even had their coffee.

Oh no. His dream job wouldn't require him to start working until after twelve o'clock in the afternoon. He wasn't sure what job that would be exactly, but then he had a few years to work out the best way to avoid mornings for the rest of his natural life.

Muttering curses under his breath over having to get up in the middle of the night – at least, what he considered five-thirty AM to be – Kamio swung his legs off the bed and rolled over, falling to his hands and knees on the floor, groping about blindly for his practice jersey, and then heading to the bathroom.

The shower was hot, the spray was strong and it did the trick of waking him up, at least a bit. Checking the clock on his phone, he saw he was dressed and brushed and it wasn't even ten to the hour yet. Perfect.

Kamio slapped the batteries back into his clock, adjusted the time, and then trudged into the hallway, stopping at the door next to his room. Two taps, and then he turned the handle, opening the door and letting light from the hallway stream into the bedroom, mixing with the weak morning rays from the window.

Against the far left wall, a plain wooden bunk bed was set up, draped with plush animals and soft, fluffy blankets, even though it was the beginning of September, and fairly warm for it. His little sisters were still asleep, naturally – if there were any people who hated mornings more then he, it was his sisters. Unless it was a Sunday morning, with all their favorite TV shows on, and _then_ they would beat the alarm clock.

Kamio watched his siblings sleep with a small smile on his face. Walking softly into the room, he peered at the upper bunk.

Eight-year-old Sachiko was sprawled out on top of her blankets, a foot dangling over the edge, both arms flung as wide as they could go. One pajama pant leg was pulled up around her knee, exposing the small band aid on it, a souvenir from the trip to the park the day before. Kamio smirked, and then reached out to grasp her shoulder, shaking gently.

"Sachiko-chan, time to get up."

A murmur, a whimper, and then Sachiko opened bleary eyes to glare crossly at her brother. "Wanna sleep more, 'nii-chan. S'too early."

Kamio chuckled and ruffled her hair fondly, hair that matched his in color but far outstripped him in length. "C'mon kiddo. Don't make this an issue today, okay?"

Sachiko pouted but nodded, and yawned hugely, stretching her arms above her head. Her pajama top pulled up a bit, already getting too small and threadbare for her. Kamio sighed at the thought of a new expense, but decided to worry about it later, and instead, poked a finger into the uncovered belly, making Sachiko squeal and curl up in an effort to get away from him. "Nii-chan!"

"Up!" Kamio repeated, and flexed his fingers warningly. "Or I'll be back for the ribs too."

Sachiko giggled and sat up, snapping a salute. "Yessir!"

Satisfied she wasn't going to go back to sleep, Kamio turned his attention to the youngest household member. Michiko, six years old, was able to sleep through almost anything, and he was unsurprised that the noise he and Sachiko made didn't wake her up. He reached down and did the same shoulder shake to her, "Miki-chan," he called softly. He drummed his fingers on her shoulder, knowing that while she didn't react to noise, she did react to touch, and sure enough, her eyes fluttered open and she blinked up sleepily at her big brother, focusing on his face.

"Oniichan?"

"Time to get up, little girl," Kamio said with a smile. Michiko nodded, yawning and sitting up, without a fraction of the fuss and drama that Sachiko liked to put on. He sometimes worried that she was too serious for her own good, but every now and then she'd turn around and give him a shining, gap-toothed smile that erased the worries for a while.

With both of them up, Kamio walked over to the closet and took out their respective uniforms, draping them over the battered dresser. "I'm gonna get breakfast ready. You two, get dressed and be downstairs in ten minutes, okay?"

"When the big hand is on the twelve and the small hand is on the six," Sachiko recited, grinning cheekily at her big brother. "Kitakara-sensei made us practice time last week."

Kamio nodded, still grinning, and then left them to get ready. About to go downstairs, he hesitated, and then turned around, walking back down the hall, past his bedroom to the door at the far end. He raised his hand to knock and then paused for a second, as though working himself up to it. Then he shook his head, rapped his knuckles against the wood, and opened the door a crack.

"Mom?"

There wasn't an answer, but really, Kamio wasn't expecting one. He opened the door wider and stuck his head in. Clothes were scattered all over the room, empty bottles and dishes stacked haphazardly on every available surface. On the bed, surrounded by faded pillows, he could see the lump of blankets that was his mother. One hand hung over the edge, and Kamio could see a bottle on the floor where it had finally fallen from her lax grip. The smell of alcohol in the room was almost overpowering, but Kamio breathed through his mouth and waded through the junk to the window where he opened it enough to let in some fresh air.

Kamio Yuriko slept the sleep of the over-indulgent, open-mouthed snores telling Kamio that yes, she was still alive. And probably still wearing her clothes from work, but that wasn't his problem. Kamio eyed her for a moment, and then stepped over to the floor where her jacket was lying in a heap. He picked it up and casually rifled through it for her wallet.

He didn't bother to silence what he was doing, but he was still surprised when a bleary eye opened and peered at him balefully from under the blankets.

"Wh'trrya doin'?" she slurred. Kamio sighed. She was still drunk. It probably hadn't been that long since she'd gotten in.

"Sachiko and Michiko need to give their trip fees to their teacher today," Kamio said calmly, withdrawing the cash from the wallet sleeve, noting that there wasn't much in there. He'd done this so often before there was no need to hide his actions from her. "They're going to the museum tomorrow. I already signed their permission forms for you."

"Wha'ver," she groaned. One hand flapped at him awkwardly. "Go'way. Noisy."

Kamio bit back a growl, and nodded instead, dropping her jacket back to the floor and heading back to the hallway, closing her bedroom door behind him.

Away from the smell of his mother pickling herself, Kamio took a deep breath and tried to erase her from his mind. She wasn't worth thinking about anyway. She hadn't been for a very long time.

**o0o...o0o...o0o**

In the kitchen, Kamio set out bowls and spoons, taking down a box of generic rice cereal. He _could_ cook a proper Japanese breakfast but only when they had the ingredients at hand, and Kamio made a note to himself to go grocery shopping after practice. He couldn't get much, but the cereal was almost gone – today would be the last of it for sure – and the girls had been eating it for three days in a row anyway. His mother had left cash on the table from her late night out two days ago, and that would do for the essentials at least.

It was six-oh-two when the girls made their appearance. Kamio mock-glared at them and they giggled at his exaggerated face. "I ought to beat you with wet noodles for being late," he said, scowling, and Michiko smiled.

"I like noodles," she declared, and Kamio rolled his eyes.

"Threats are wasted on you two, you know?" He poured milk for Michiko but let Sachiko do it herself, watching to make sure she didn't spill it all over the table. "Eat up – we gotta get movin'."

"I want braids today, 'Nii-chan," Sachiko said by way of response and Kamio nodded. He ducked into the living room where he'd left her brush from the day before and then moved behind her, brushing her hair out, gently pulling the tangles apart.

He was actually quite good at doing a girl's hair. He used to be so very, very bad at it, to the point where he'd had to practice and prove to Sachiko he could do proper braids by twisting up his own bangs (the only part that was actually long enough to do), after she'd come home in tears over being laughed at for having such a lopsided and messy hair style.

He quickly and efficiently separated and then plaited the thick red hair on each side of her head, wrapping the ends with colorful elastic bands and then tying her favorite blue ribbons over them. "All finished. Michiko?" He tapped the table to get her attention from where it was solely focused on her cereal bowl.

Michiko held up a small headband and Kamio nodded, brushing her much shorter. reddish-brown hair out and slipping the headband on, pushing it back, sweeping her bangs to the sides so they wouldn't get in her eyes. She could probably do it herself, but if he did Sachiko's hair and didn't offer to do Miki's, she'd get jealous and then precious time would be wasted having to get her stop whimpering over the unfairness.

"You too, eat quick and then go brush your teeth. I'm gonna go get my player, okay?"

Twin 'okay's' rang out and Kamio jogged into the living room, scanning it for his MP3 player. It had been a gift from the team at the end of the year, when Tachibana had handed the reigns of team leadership over to him, Buchou to newly promoted Buchou. It sure beat using his ancient walkman that had developed the tendency over the years to eat the occasional mix tape on him. He spied the ear phones hanging over the sofa arm, and he picked them up, following the wire to the floor and around the back where his MP3 player lay under his homework. Snatching it up, he shoved it in his pocket and then stuffed his homework into his schoolbag. The girls' bags were already mostly packed, something he'd trained them to do as soon as they finished their homework. It made for one less hassle to deal with in the morning.

Twenty after six. Kamio heard his sisters racing each other up the stairs and he brought their bags to the front door. Then he snapped his fingers – laundry!

"Guys, bring your dirty clothes down!" He shouted. Sachiko shouted back 'Okay' and he knew she'd prod Michiko. He went into the small room that held the washing machine and loaded his own clothes into it, adding soap and turning it on. The cycle would finish in thirty minutes and he'd add a bit more soap and restart it. Then it would sit there until he got home that night, but it was an old machine that didn't always do such a good job. Since everything needed to be done twice anyway, he might as well get one finished before he left.

Sachiko waddled into the room, a huge armful of clothing past her nose nearly eclipsing her vision. She dumped it in the corner and then Michiko appeared, little arms lugging as much as she could. Kamio helped her stack it next to Sachiko's pile.

"Go make sure you have everything you need for school," he directed, and they bustled back out. Kamio headed for the kitchen, and ultimately the rice cooker, to get their lunches ready.

Making a bento was another acquired skill that had taken him nearly a month in the beginning to, well, not master, but at least produce something that _looked_ as edible as it really was. Rice balls, octopus-shaped sausages that were all the rage among school kids, and lunch meat cut into shapes with cookie cutters (cheating, but it did the trick). Kamio searched the fridge and came up with the last of the carrots which he washed, peeled and then sliced up. He took out the small carton of strawberries he'd splurged on the night before and cut the tops off, before slicing them vertically and sticking them in the compartment he'd always used for their desserts. It wasn't a fancy lunch, but it wasn't the worst thing he'd ever done before, and the girls wouldn't go hungry which was the main thing. There wasn't enough of everything to make a bento for himself, but he rarely ever did make his own – bread was cheap at his school, and he didn't care what he ate as long as it was edible and before the sell-by date.

By the time he'd finished wrapping Sachiko and Michiko's bentos, he could hear the washing machine beeping at him. It was ten to seven and they had to be out the door in five minutes. He called for his sisters as he reset the washing machine, and they ran out of the living room where they'd been watching TV once they'd finished getting ready.

"Got everything? Teeth brushed?" he asked, handing them their lunches. They nodded, and Kamio made shooing motions with his hands. "Shoes, shoes! Let's go!"

They giggled and raced for the doorway, Kamio on their heels. He had to take them down the street to his neighbour, Minagawa-san. Minagawa-san had a little girl in Sachiko's class named Hana, and the two were firm friends. Long ago, Kamio had asked Minigawa-san if she wouldn't mind taking Sachiko and Michiko to school with her own daughter, as Kamio had responsibilities as the Fukou-Buchou of the Fudoumine tennis club. Now that he was Buchou, he had even more, and he was never more grateful to the woman for agreeing.

Granted, she had done so with a pitying look on her face, but Kamio had long since learned to block those out. The girls stayed at her house until seven-thirty when she'd take the three of them to school.

"Practice is until five-thirty tonight," he told them as they walked out of the house and he locked up behind them. "I have to pick up some stuff for dinner, so I'll be home by six. Come straight home and do NOT leave the house until I get there. Got it?"

He said the exact same thing every day, and every day they nodded and said they wouldn't go anywhere. Like Kamio before them, they were the stereotypical latchkey kids. Minagawa-san would take them to her house and they would walk to their home only five minutes away. His mother would most likely be out of the house by one o'clock, and wouldn't be back until well after midnight, sometimes stumbling through the door at three and even four in the morning. Being considered a latchkey kid wasn't something Kamio was proud of, and he didn't like his sisters to have the same stigma thrust upon them, but it had to be borne. The only solution would be for him to get home first, and that would mean quitting tennis, which was NOT an option.

As they left their yard and Kamio locked it behind them, he turned to them and handed them each an envelope. "That's the money for your trip tomorrow. Give it to your teacher as soon as you get to class, okay?"

Under his stern eyes, they dutifully tucked the packages in the inner flaps of their book bags. They knew that if they lost the money, Kamio couldn't guarantee a replacement for it, and they were very careful not to let their brother down regarding such things.

Money and bags secure, Kamio held out his hands, and let them grab hold for the walk to Minagawa-san's home.

Another day had begun.

**o0o...o0o...o0o**

**End Chapter 1**

**o0o...o0o...o0o**

Feedback and con/crit is adored and loved. Please feel free to tell me of any errors and mistakes. Regarding the school fees and such, I'm not sure how they do it in Japan, but here in Shanghai where I teach, my students often bring money to their teachers before any major trip for the teacher to pay for tickets etc. We did it in Canada too, as well as the signing of the permission forms. No form, means no going. If they do things differently in Japan, well, chalk it up to creative licensing, okay?


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Life Goes On - 2/?

Author: Stormy1x2 (traveling_storm)

Rating: PG-13 (language)

Word count for chapter 1(fic portion): 4069

Pairings: Non-specific (for now)

 

o0o...o0o...o0o

Every day when Kamio reached the grounds of Fudoumine, he took a moment to thank Kami that Sakurai, his Vice-Captain, was in fact the reliable and punctual person that he was. Even if Kamio used the speed he'd hit the day Momoshiro had stolen his bike – a speed born out of sheer determination and desperation, and not one he was able to reproduce on demand (yet) – it still took him anywhere from ten to fifteen minutes to get there from the time he left his siblings on Minagawa-san's doorstep.

Sakurai however, lived about a ten minute walk from the school and as such, had absolutely no problem with getting there first to open the clubhouse, unlock the court gates, and mobilize the first-years into setting up the nets.

By the time Kamio arrived, Sakurai always had everything ready to go - something Kamio sometimes fumed at since he'd never been able to accomplish such things for Tachibana-Buchou on a regular basis - which meant Kamio could immediately begin the practices. Since he counted his run to school as the equivalent of thirty laps around the grounds, he never felt guilty about not joining the Regulars in their morning run. Instead, he usually directed Sakurai to oversee the first years, leaving the Regulars to their own warm up devices. After a year of doing the same morning routine, it wasn't like any of them really needed supervision for the basics, and it gave him time to go over his books Sakurai had brought out from the clubhouse.

Yes, books. Kamio had books. Four of them, to be precise; big thick ones filled with stats, strengths, weaknesses, behaviours and noted patterns. The first two had been filled by Tachibana during Kamio's first year. Page after page of meticulously neat handwriting that put Kamio's to shame, detailing that momentous first year that had been their -and Fudoumine's specifically – true beginning.

The last two had been filled by Kamio himself, full of beginner mistakes and cross-outs; a recording of the time he'd first been told to note down what he saw, his impressions, and how he thought he could help his fellow members improve. During his second year, after Tachibana had appointed him as the official Vice-Captain (and to this day, Kamio still couldn't figure out just why he'd been chosen), the third year Regular had taken Kamio under his wing and trained him for the job he would eventually overtake.

Kamio would never dream of claiming to be as good as his captain had been, but he was still rather proud of his books, particularly the newest one that had fewer cross-outs and globs of white out, and more analytical observations. Tachibana had been a good teacher, patiently pointing out the most minuscule of details that helped make up the whole picture of a player. He had taught him to break down the components of a move to see how they worked, and put them back together in his head with a complete understanding of the shot he'd witnessed. He had drilled Kamio on muscle groups and first aid and how to detect early warning signs of injury, in addition to pushing Kamio into developing his own style of tennis that was on par with any Kantou player.

Kamio had done his best to absorb everything he was told, and then midway through his second year, Tachibana had made him take over the training and note-recording for the few first years that had timidly signed up.

Kamio ran his fingers along the book spines stacked on the bench. Starting in the next couple of months, he was going to have to start the training for whomsoever would be taking over next year. Sakurai had gone through the same 'captain training' that Kamio had, albeit a bit more boot-camp style, as no one had known who was going to take Kamio's job until just after the Nationals that past summer. In effect, he was still learning, working with the first years as Kamio had, but it wouldn't be long before he would be ready to assist Kamio in coming up with a candidate to take over when they left.

"Hey Kamio!"

He was pulled away from his thoughts by Sakurai's good-natured welcome. He waved back in response and jogged over, accepting the towel the other handed to him. "Thanks."

"No problem." Sakurai gestured to the courts where the first years were finishing the net setup. "We're almost ready."

"Yeah." Kamio looked over and as always, felt a surge of pride swell over him whenever he saw the first years working hard, with none of the fear and apprehension that had plagued he and the others back when they had been that age. The new players would never have to feel the dread of having to attend a practice with the knowledge that they'd most likely be unable to escape without at least some bruising that had nothing to do with tennis. They wouldn't feel the pain of having those who were supposed to be their sempai's, turn on them; hurting them, taunting and abusing them for a few mindless laughs.

Kamio knew Sakurai and the other Regulars felt just as strongly about making sure the first years had an easier introduction to tennis then they had, and it warmed his heart to see one of the younger boys run up to Tetsu Ishida, handing him a water bottle with a chirp and a grin. Ishida made sure to thank the boy, - Tsuda Hiroki, Kamio noted automatically – even going so far as to ruffle the boy's hair with genuine affection.

It was such an astounding difference from the absolute horror it had been just two short years before.

"Here's this weeks schedule for the first years," Kamio said, pulling a paper out of his backpack. "Can you get them started on their swings?"

Sakurai saluted him cheerfully and headed off, clapping his hands together loudly and shouting for all first years to follow him, and Kamio laughed at the sight of all the tiny firsties clad in identical workout tees and shorts, straggling behind his Fukou-buchou like a swarm of baby ducklings. Chuckling under his breath, Kamio pulled out a second paper and waved for the Regulars to join him.

"Regs will be doing practice singles matches this morning - two out of three games - and drill work this afternoon. Treat the matches like you would real competition bouts." He pointed to 'A' court. "Mori and Uchimura. Ishida, you and Sakurai are on 'B' when he gets back here. Shinji?"

Shinji Ibu looked up from where he was sprawled out in a V-stretch, arms wrapped around his racquet behind his back as he twisted back and forth, muttering something about daisies sprouting up through the cracks in the practice courts. "Hmm?"

"I need to go check in with Catherine-sensei," Kamio said, waving a hand at the small office attached to the clubhouse. "Can you work with Norihisa today?"

Norihisa Yuki was their newest Regular, and the only second year. Despite the fact that everyone was determined to be better sempai's to their kouhai's, it was common knowledge that the Regulars were made up of the same members who had instigated the tennis revolution and had gone to the Nationals, and there was no small degree of nervousness to the 'newbies' who wanted to play but were hesitant to intrude on what seemed to be a sacred institution. Norihisa was a good, solid player but a month after making Regulars, he still had a habit of hiding at the fringe of the group, afraid to voice his opinions on pretty much anything. Even now, he was currently hiding behind Ishida, nervously plucking away at his racquet strings.

"Of course I can work with him, I'm not incompetent you know. His ball control needs work and I'm a perfectly good choice to help him with that-"

"Thanks Shinji," Kamio said gratefully, leaning to the right and smiling at Norihisa. "Okay?"

The second year jumped as he was addressed. "Yes, Buchou," He fairly shouted, his cheeks flaring a bright red as everyone chuckled lightly. He turned to Shinji and bowed deeply. "Thank you for agreeing to work with me, Shinji-san."

"Why wouldn't I agree to work with you? Am I such a disagreeable person that it's easy to believe I would refuse to help a teammate with something I happen to be good at? And I thought we stopped using honorifics last year, when did we start using them again?"

Kamio grinned as Norihisa protested weakly that it wasn't right for him to address him as 'Shinji'. Never one for formalities, the team had given up on all suffixes not long after Nationals. Heck, they were more a family then an actual team anyway, and Norihisa would blend in once he realized that and lost his perpetual shyness. "'C' court, you two."

"Yes, yes, Kamio sure seems a lot more bossy now that he's in charge. I wonder if Tachibana had any idea this would happen when he made Kamio Fukou-buchou last year..."

The mutterings trailed off as Shinji stalked towards 'C' court, Norihisa scuttling about behind him like an eager puppy, racquet in hand. Satisfied that everyone was going to work right away, Kamio headed for the small office. He knocked on the door, and walked in.

Catherine Lupsor-sensei, the foreign English teacher at Fudoumine, looked up with a smile. "Hello Kamio. How are you today?"

"I'm fine, thank you," Kamio returned easily. Catherine-sensei greeted him the same way every time she saw him. "Just checking in."

"Hmm...ah! The headmaster gave me these papers – permission for the team to miss class this Saturday for your exhibition match." The teacher handed a stack of forms to him. "Make sure you give them to me by tomorrow morning, okay?"

"I will give them to you before practice tomorrow," Kamio promised, flicking through them idly. Everyone had showed up today for practice, so it would only take a few minutes to hand them out.

Catherine-sensei – she utterly refused to be called Lupsor-sensei – smiled brightly at him. "Is everyone here today?"

"Yes," Kamio said. He bowed low to her. "Thank you for your help."

"Anytime, Kamio." Catherine smiled and turned back to her laptop. English pop music, tinny-sounding from the tiny speakers she'd attached to the computer, drifted up and Kamio headed back out to practice, absently humming the catchy tune.

They were really lucky to have Catherine-sensei's help. After the whole fiasco when Tachibana had decked the teacher and had started a whole separate team, they still had mountains of troubles to overcome, the most pressing of which was finding a teacher willing to oversee their club.

School rules and regulations forbade any club from practicing on school grounds if there wasn't a teacher in the vicinity, citing theft and injury liabilities as the reason. When they'd asked around, all of the teachers had turned them down. Whether it was because they were busy, or because they thought they would be in danger of being attacked (according to the rumors flying fast and furious around the school), Kamio wasn't sure. Personally, he thought that Akimoto-sensei, the one who had let the tennis club get so out of control in the first place – and the one Tachibana had knocked flat on his ass – had warned all the other teachers to stay away from them or they'd get fired or something. It was a fair assumption, especially since he was one of the oldest teachers at the school, and one with a fair amount of influence with the Headmaster.

Then about a week after the whole debacle, still without a supervising teacher and being forced to hold makeshift practices on the street courts near the school, they'd noticed a foreign lady watching their club, a look of awe on her face. Tachibana had recognized her as the new English teacher that had been hired not a month before, and had instantly made a beeline towards her.

It had been a brilliant move. As a foreigner teaching at their school, she'd been hired by a third party and as such, had no loyalty or devotion to the school she was at, and was therefore probably the only teacher currently not under the influence of Akimoto-sensei.

The only problem in the beginning – for Kamio, at least – was the language barrier. Catherine-sensei didn't speak much Japanese, outside of a few generic phrases, greetings, numbers and random nouns. Thankfully, both Tachibana and his sister spoke near-fluent English, the end result of a father who worked for an ex-patriot company and knew the value in bringing his children up to be bilingual. He was able to converse freely with her, with An translating for poor Kamio who just watched them go back and forth like a verbal tennis match.

It had been shocking to see just how angry Catherine-sensei had gotten on their behalf. It was rare for a teacher to side with a student over a fellow educator, but Kamio just chalked it up to her being a Canadian, with different ways of seeing things. She had listened to them without judging them, and had agreed to help them if she was able; after all, the Headmaster might have refused to let her associate with the 'rebels' of the school.

But as it turned out, the Headmaster was very pleased with Catherine's classes – as were the parents – and in an effort to keep her happy enough to re-sign for the following year, he'd ended up giving her permission to be the official liaison between the newly formed tennis club and the school's administrative system.

"I warn you though," Catherine-sensei had told them with a smile after getting the official go-ahead. "The only thing I know about tennis is that you hold a racquet by one end, and hit the ball with the other. As a coach, manager, referee, umpire or whatever you have in this sport, I'm utterly useless. I can be a presence here for you for liability purposes, and help with the paperwork. But-" and her eyes had darkened, a very serious expression slipping over the easy-going smile she'd been wearing. "-you'd better not give me a reason to regret this. Be honest with me. Tell me when accidents or incidents I need to know about happen. I do not want to hear about anything happening from the teachers in the staff room. Don't lie to me, and don't hide things from me. By agreeing to do this, I now have a responsibility for your team. Please don't make me regret doing this."

Tachibana had solemnly promised he would never give her a reason to regret helping them, and after getting the translation, Kamio had eagerly added his own guarantee and then BOOM – they had a new 'coach'.

An added bonus was the fact that by the end of their second year school term, due to chatting with Catherine-sensei on an almost daily basis, everyone's English mark had gone up a full letter grade with the exception of the Tachibana siblings who'd always gotten straight A's in that class anyway.

Kamio had come to enjoy the chances he had to talk to Catherine-sensei. Ten minutes of conversing with her meant he didn't need to feel guilty about shaving ten minutes off his actual English studying at night, in order to apply the extra time to a subject that needed it more. Like math, for instance. Kamio hated math. It was pure evil in numerical format.

Sakurai was still monitoring the first years, racquet in one hand, his notebook in the other, so Kamio headed over to watch Mori play his doubles partner. As he got closer to the courts, he saw that An had joined them, sitting high in the referee's chair, calling each shot.

"You're late, An-chan!" he shouted up at her, and she stuck her tongue out at him, even as Uchimura managed to sneak a shot past Mori. She called it anyway, slurring the 'lob-'irty' past her outstretched tongue.

As a girl, she was of course, unable to play on the team, but the Fudoumine's girls club was practically non-existent. She'd originally come to Fudoumine to be with her brother anyway, and she was content to wait until high school to play on a team. In the meantime, she would gain valuable experience by helping the boys, watching their moves, and learning from them – sometimes even practicing with them when they were short on people. The whole team was used to her presence, and the first years had learned very quickly to respect An or they would be dealing with six, very protective Regulars.

She was their unofficial 'manager', Catherine-sensei's helper and translator, and was never far from her video camera. She claimed it was because her brother wanted to see their progress, even if he was technically no longer their captain, but Sakurai had teased her and said she just wanted to make home videos of sweaty, muscular tennis players racing around the court and grunting.

Kamio chuckled at the memory. It took more then that to embarrass An-chan, having grown up with a brother who didn't hesitate in teasing his sibling, and she'd promptly turned the camera on Sakurai, claiming he'd hit the nail on the head, and would he pretty please take off his shirt for her video?

The match ended, Uchimura having squeaked out a win over Mori who was rolling his eyes at his shorter partner's enthusiastic shouts of victory. An jumped down from the referee's chair, and Uchimura took her spot as Ishida headed on the court. Mori would rally with him until Sakurai got there.

"Good morning to you too, sunshine," she teased as she joined him. He knew she was fully aware of his views on mornings. "How're the girls?"

She was also the only one apart from her brother and Shinji, who knew the details of his home life, and she utterly adored Sachiko and Michiko. Kamio crossed his arms, squinting at Ishida who had just missed an easy lob.

"They're fine," he said absently, frowning at the mistake. Was Ishida injured?

"That's good," An said, nodding. "Did you finish your history assignment for Satoshi-sensei?"

"Uh-huh." He didn't look injured – he was walking normally, swinging his arms loosely.

"Math done?"

"Yup." Ishida was probably just tired or something, and his theory seemed valid when he saw Ishida let loose with a jaw-popping yawn that made Mori laugh. Kamio could appreciate being tired all too well, stifling a yawn of his own that reminded him of his own post-midnight crash.

"Kiss Momoshiro-sempai yet?"

"Uh-huh—wait, what?" Kamio blinked and turned to look at her incredulously. "What the heck was that? Why would I kiss Momoshiro?"

An giggled and patted him on the shoulder. "I was just checking to see if you really were awake," she said. "Girls don't like being ignored. You should know that better than anyone."

Oh yes, he knew how that went. All he had to was pretend not to hear Sachiko complaining about, well, anything, and the next thing he knew, one or more of her plush animals would be flung at him in an effort to make him 'stop dreaming'.

But still, there were limits. "Momoshiro?"

"Sorry, sorry!" Ann held up her hands in surrender. She walked over to the bench and rummaged through her backpack for a second before turning around and presenting him with a wrapped package. "Here, a peace offering." She smiled. "Onii-chan made hamburgers this morning." She frowned lightly at him. "Don't even think about saying no – I know you didn't eat breakfast this morning."

Kamio stared at the wrapped lunch and sighed internally before mustering up a smile and accepting it with thanks. She had to give it to him now – neither of them had the same lunch schedule this year, and the classes they did have together were the last two periods of the day.

Last year, both An and her brother had noticed Kamio never brought his own lunch to school, and would ravenously wolf down whatever bread the cafeteria lady had left. Endless questioning – and one memorable day when An had tried to play spy detective and had followed him home – eventually wound up with Kamio spilling his guts to them and immediately swearing them to absolute secrecy. Tachibana had not been happy that his Vice-Captain was in effect, slowly starving himself, and when he made lunch for himself and his sister, he would periodically slip an extra bento into An's bag to give to Kamio, which she would then present to him at morning practice.

Kamio knew that if he hadn't protested as much as he had, An would be bringing him lunch every day. But Kamio was nobody's charity case, and so the Tachibana siblings resigned themselves to only two or three times a week. They wouldn't force the issue, as long as Kamio accepted the offering gracefully when it was made available.

"What are those?" She asked, pointing at the forms. Kamio blinked.

":Oh yeah." Picking them up, he handed her one – she was the 'manager' and as far as he was concerned, she was entitled to cut class with the rest of them for all the work she did – and she flicked her eyes over it with interest.

"I'm kinda curious how this exhibition match is going to go," she commented. "Kirihara-san is the only one left from his original team, right?"

"Yeah," Kamio nodded. His eyes darted over to 'C' court where Shinji was mumbling something to Norihisa, who nodded his head up and down like a Jack-in-the-Box. Shinji then broke off his mutters and glared mildly at the second year Regular who immediately changed his grip. Shinji gave a satisfied nod, and then threw the ball into the air for a lightning fast Kick Serve that Kamio was surprised to see Norihisa return, with no small amount of power behind it. "All the other Rikkai Regulars last year were third year."

"Wow, that's gotta suck, being all alone like that," An said thoughtfully. "You're all really lucky – the only person you're missing is my brother, and even so, you've still got me." She winked at him. "One Tachibana sibling is just as good as another, right?"

"Yeah, right," Kamio laughed. It was true – they were lucky. He got to have one more year with his friends before they were possibly split up for different high schools. He couldn't imagine having to be Captain this year with a brand new team. "I wonder how Kirihara's handling it?"

"We'll see this Saturday, won't we?"

Kamio smoothed his hand down over the permission forms. Yes, they would. Kamio was looking forward to it.

Sakurai finally joined Ishida on the court, and Mori moved offside to watch. Kamio handed the forms to An. "Give these out when they finish, will you? I'm gonna go watch the first years for a bit."

"Gotta fill those books," she teased, taking the papers and waving him off.

Kamio grinned and jogged over to the far side of the court area where the first years were in the middle of one hundred back hand strokes. He watched with pride as they swung hard, brows furrowed in concentration, counting off in crisp, clear voices, voices and swings that both got stronger when they saw their Buchou watching them.

By Kami, how he loved this. It was times like this that he seemed to forget how tired he was by the end of the week, or how hard it sometimes was to balance both his Captain duties, schoolwork and his responsibilities to his sisters.

It was moments like these that made everything worth it.

o0o...o0o...o0o

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a female OC here but she is older than the boys, NOT a love interest, and has only a very minor – and very necessary role to play, as you will read. There are also mentions of OC's as new first year members – and a new regular (to fill the gap left by the graduation of Tachibana). I think you'll be pleased with how they are portrayed.
> 
> Also, it's not made clear whether or not teams have exhibition matches, but we always did for basketball. I can't see the tennis team going the whole year with only the Kantou tournament and the Nationals to look forward too – it's too boring. Hence, they schedule exhibition matches with other schools throughout the year. My two cents.
> 
> I explained about certain Japanese words in chapter 1. Here, you'll see I've used the words 'sempai' and 'kouhai' and again, it's because there's no English equivalent that sounds ...non-dorky. I mean, c'mon - I don't run around calling people older than me 'upper-classmen' and those younger than me 'under-classmen'. It sounds stupid, and so I've left 'sempai' and 'kouhai' alone.
> 
> Everyone speaks Japanese in this fic. When they speak to the OC, it's in English and it's represented by italics.
> 
> As always, feedback is greatly appreciated. I've gone over this several times and I think I've caught all the glaring errors, but I just know when I read it again after posting, something is going to jump out at me. sigh
> 
> Anyway, again, the permission forms are something that's required in Canada and China, so I assumed something similar had to be done in Japan. We don't see it too much, because Ryuuzaki-sensei handles it for Seigaku, but Fudoumine doesn't have a Ryuuzaki-sensei. They have a Kamio-Buchou, an An-chan and a Catherine-sensei who do the best they can under very trying circumstances. :)
> 
> Special thank you's to everyone who's reviewed so far. I hope you continue to enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Life Goes On - 3/?

**Author:** Stormy1x2 (travelingstorm)

 **Rating:** PG-13 (language)

 **Word count for chapter 3(fic portion):** 5244 (14 OpOff pages)

 **Pairings:** Non-specific (for now)

 

**o0o...o0o...o0o**

He had forty minutes for lunch, and Kamio made sure to never waste a single one. The instant the bell rang, he shot out of his seat, bag in hand, and instantly made tracks for the clubhouse. If he had a lunch – which he did today, thanks to An-chan – he usually ate it while going over the rosters and schedules for the team. It only ever took a few minutes – the lineups for games never changed unless there were extenuating circumstances, and practices followed the same format Tachibana had instilled in them two years previous:

Mondays and Wednesdays were singles practices. Tuesdays and Thursdays focused on doubles, everyone playing at least two matches (best two out of three games per) with a different partner each time (in case those pesky extenuating circumstances ever popped up and the schedule had to undergo a rapid rearrangement). Afternoons were spent half on drills and stamina building, and half on weight-training or free-training. Fridays were all drill-work. Saturdays were usually reserved for exhibition games, and if nothing was scheduled, they had practice matches instead.

Having everything run on a familiar routine, meant it only ever took Kamio about ten or so minutes to check his books and make any additional notations from the mornings practice. The rest of his lunch period he usually spent trying to get ahead on his homework. The more he finished in the day was less that he had to do at night. Less homework at night meant possibly getting to sleep before midnight.

Catherine-sensei wasn't in the clubhouse. She usually ate her lunch with the Japanese teachers, but sometimes Kamio would find her in there, listening to music on her laptop while she worked on lesson plans. Even though she was a teacher, Kamio didn't mind the company at all – he had an interest in North American music and Catherine-sensei had a very large and varied collection of MP3's.

Kamio finished the last of the spicy hamburger patties in the lunch An had forced on him and washed it down with the last of his water, sticking the empty bottle in his bag to refill at home. Books updated, he turned to his math text, complete with accompanying worksheets piled a few inches thick, with a determined look. He was finished the portion he'd been assigned for homework – had in fact, finished it the week before – but he still wanted to get as far ahead as he could.

A knock on the door a while later brought him out of the confusing world of word problems, and he looked up to see Shinji glide silently inside. Kamio blinked. "You okay, Shinji?"

Shinji stared solemnly at him as he took the seat opposite Kamio. "I'm fine, but I knew you'd be in here doing math homework again and I know you try to keep ahead but that won't do you any good if the answers are wrong you know."

Which was Shinji-speech for 'I'll check your work for you', and Kamio nodded gratefully. "Thanks Shinji," he said, pushing one of the completed worksheets over to him.

Shinji nodded and set to work, muttering the word problems under his breath – what they were, how they should be done, what Kamio had done, and how the ones that were wrong or incomplete could be fixed, scribbling notes over the paper. Shinji might have been considered a little odd or eccentric by most of the student body, but he was a _genius_ eccentric with a knack for both math and writing out tips and strategies in a way that made far more sense to Kamio then their math teacher ever had.

Kamio smiled to himself and turned the page in his math book, setting back to work.

**o0o...o0o...o0o**

**o0o...o0o...o0o**

"Let's go, let's go!" An clapped her hands eagerly, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet next to Kamio's desk. The bell had just rung, and even though Kamio was the captain, he still followed the same rules that Tachibana had laid down as law the year before. Practice began promptly at four-fifteen sharp, and that meant Kamio had fifteen minutes to get to the clubhouse, change, and begin.

An dropped the handle of his bag around his neck as he finished gathering his things. "I'll meet you there," she said. There was no female change room in the clubhouse – being that there was no official female tennis team – so An had to hightail it to the girl's locker room by the gym to get ready. She always changed for practice, in case they needed her to join in. Even if they didn't, she usually did their workouts with them anyway, knowing she'd need to be ready to dive right into strenuous practices when she joined the high school team next year.

Kamio waved her on and stood up slowly, stretching his arms up over his head, listening to his spine pop back into place. History class, as fascinating as he usually found it, was still longer then any of the others he'd had that day. Monday was a double period and his tail bone ached from sitting on the hard chairs for the last two hours.

Shinji materialized next to him. Unsurprising, since he, An and Shinji all took history together. "What's taking you so long? The bell rang three minutes ago and you're still at your desk. You should be halfway to the clubhouse by now, seeing as how it's a short walk from this room and you usually jog over, yet you haven't moved." He frowned at Kamio who rolled his eyes at him. "Don't roll your eyes at people. It's rude and a bad habit, and you're going to pass that on to your sisters. Then they'll do it to _you_ and you won't be able to say anything without looking like a hypocrite."

"So let's go," Kamio interjected before Shinji could continue. He slid his chair into the desk and re-situated the strap An had plunked over him on his shoulder, gesturing for Shinji to precede him out of the classroom. "You know Shinji, you did a really good job with Norihisa this morning. Would you mind keeping an eye on him today?"

Shinji shrugged. "He twists his wrists when he serves, like that Ohtori kid from Hyoutei even though his speed isn't anywhere near the two hundred mark. His footwork is rough – he takes too much time to react to sharp shots at closer range."

"So you can work with his speed drills today," Kamio said, shrugging. "He's afraid of me and Sakurai for some reason, and Uchimura and Mori have their own foot problems they need to focus on today. He uses Ishida to hide behind and Ishida doesn't have the heart to force him into doing anything." It was true – their tough teammate's muscular exterior housed a surprisingly gentle spirit, and he was loathe to impose his will on anyone. "Push him a little, okay Shinji?"

Shinji glanced at him contemplatively, and then nodded.

Drill practices didn't vary too much from day to day; mainly because the equipment they had was minimal, and funding hadn't been allotted to the tennis team yet that year. They'd been able to use what was left of the budget when they'd formed their new team to purchase their uniforms, but that was long gone. They'd managed to secure enough funds from the Headmaster to buy Norihisa his Regulars jacket – angry at them or not, the Headmaster did not want to be considered the laughing stock of the Kantou region for letting his school present themselves in shoddy, mismatching jerseys – but nothing had been given to them yet for purchasing new practice equipment. Players were responsible for their own personal equipment – racquets, grip tape, tennis bags, shoes – if they wanted to play.

It made things harder for them then it was for say, Houtei or Rikkaidai – heck, even Seigaku had a budget for the basics provided to them – but at the same time, Tachibana had taken the news with a smirk, saying if players had to do everything themselves, not only would it make them take the game seriously, but it would make them _hungrier_ for the win.

It was true. Knowing that everyone had been against them; had, in fact, been actively rooting against them, had made them even more determined to fight back and prove they deserved every victory they got.

Still, Kamio reflected as he and Shinji reached the open clubhouse and took note of the battered and worn supplies inside the storage lockers. Being able to replace some of the balls that were losing their bounce, or restring the racquets with guts so saggy they were resembling lacross sticks, well, surely that wouldn't take away all their drive, right?

Ishida was already there, helping the first years drag out baskets of tennis balls. Sakurai was showing a young player how to properly re-tape the handle of his racquet and he looked up when the two of them walked in the door.

"The pylons are already set up," he said. "Catherine-sensei was here early and did it for us – said she had nothing to do." He motioned to the small firstie standing next to him. "Finish wrapping this the way I showed you."

"Yes, Fukou-buchou!" The boy – Nara Tasuke, Kamio's mind pointed out – blinked up at Kamio with huge, adoring eyes. "Buchou!"

Kamio smiled awkwardly and let the boy dash past. Sakurai grinned saucily at him, getting up from the bench and walking over.

"Still not used to the idol-worshipping, hmm?" He snickered and mock-punched Kamio in the shoulder. "Isn't it cuuuute, the way they look at you, the way we used to look up to Tachibana-Buchou?"

"Shut up," Kamio growled, feeling his cheeks grow hot, but at the same time, he couldn't argue. He did like the feeling, and, it always served as a reminder to treat their kouhai's properly. "That was different. It was...it was Tachibana-Buchou, for Kami's sake."

"And you're Kamio-Buchou," Sakurai returned calmly, whacking him on the back. "Now get out there and lead them."

Kamio nearly doubled over – well, he _was_ skinnier then Sakurai, especially since the boy had been hitting the weight room with his doubles partner, and he looked back at Sakurai with a glare. "I'm not sure how," He said slowly. "...but there will come a day when I _will_ get back at you, and I'm positive you won't be smiling then."

"No. I'll be laughing." Sakurai picked up his racquet. "See you out there, Buchou, Shinji."

Whistling cheerfully, the boy sauntered out the door. Kamio rolled his eyes again, and Shinji gave him another smack, only this time upside the head. "Hey!"

"Don't roll your eyes, I told you about that and you thought I was joking, didn't you? We'll see if it's a joke and who will be laughing when your sisters start rolling their eyeballs every time you say something to them..."

**o0o...o0o...o0o**

**o0o...o0o...o0o**

Whoever had first coined the term 'suicides' for the series of sprints back and forth between the pylons whose distance gradually increased with each lap, couldn't have chosen a more fitting name. Even with his new-found stamina two years after starting to seriously train himself, Kamio still hated doing them with a passion. He wasn't the only one either.

"I'm dead," Ishida said earnestly, gasping the words between huge intakes of air. "Somewhere during the last five sets, my physical body died, but kept going anyway."

"Me too," Mori panted from where he lay flat on his back, arms and legs spread out as though he were attempting to make a snow angel on the court. "But if I'm dead, why does it still _hurt_?"

An was sprawled on her back, her legs over Ishida's legs, her head on Uchimura Kyosuke's stomach. She raised her hand. "I'd like to register my vote to have suicides banned from practice."

Funny how they supposedly had no energy, yet everyone managed to gather enough strength to raise their hands with surprising speed to agree with her.

As much as he wanted to lie there and complain (and possibly die along with them), Kamio wasn't allowed to. With a groan, he got his feet underneath him and pushed himself up. He hated what he was about to say, but there was no way around it. "Stair runs, thirty sets."

A chorus of groans went up, followed by droned-out '...fiiiiiiinnnne..." and the Fudoumine tennis club got off their collective rears and staggered towards the bleachers. Stair runs were almost on par with suicides for cruelty (going up, anyway), but at least your muscles got a chance to breathe a bit on the way back down.

Kamio gritted his teeth and started them off, sprinting up the right side of the bleacher stairs as fast as he could go, listening to the sounds of his team following behind him. The Regulars took the first two sets of stairs that partitioned the bleachers, and the rest of the team members spread out over the last three. Reaching the top, Kamio turned around and lightly jogged back down on the left hand side, passing the others as they continued on their way up. Reaching the bottom again, was the completion of one set. He bit back a moan at the thought of twenty-nine more.

At the end of his twenty-second set, he saw Catherine-sensei wave to him from the end of the bleachers and he jogged over to see what she wanted.

" _You have a call_ ," she said, pointing back to the office next to the clubhouse. " _All I understood was_ 'hello' _and_ 'Kamio'. _I'm not sure - I think I told her to wait a minute but you know how bad my Japanese is_."

Kamio laughed. " _I understand_ ," he said, and followed her back.

The office was small, a weather-beaten old desk set up in the middle of the wall along the right hand side, shelves along the back underneath a window Kamio had never seen open and was so crusted with dirt and filth, it probably couldn't open anyway. Kamio's books took up one shelf; forms and schedules and charts filled up the second. A first aid kit that Kamio made sure was kept fully stocked at all times, was tucked into the bottom corner of the third. A small fan was whirring away on top of the ancient TV set that sat on top of a wheeled cart, next to the door on the left hand side as Kamio entered behind the 'coach', a VCR unit underneath. Stacks of carefully labelled videocassettes were piled up next to it, the results of An's obsessive recording sessions.

The phone sat next to Catherine-sensei's laptop. It was probably over ten years old and crackled when one spoke into it, but Kamio had no problems identifying the person on the other end.

"Minagawa-san?"

"Hi Kamio. I'm sorry to disturb you during practice."

Kamio shook his head, even as he realized she couldn't see his actions. "It's not a problem, Minagawa-san. That's one of the perks of being the captain."

She laughed and Kamio felt the small spike of apprehension that he hadn't even noticed was there, drain away. She wouldn't be laughing if something were really wrong. "What's up?"

"I just called to let you know that Michiko came home with a fever today. It's not high, but it's making her cranky, and I thought I'd give you the heads up."

Kamio sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose. _Again?_ "Thanks for telling me, Minagawa-san. I'll pick up some stuff at the store on the way home."

"Oh, don't bother. I still have tons of medicines and things here leftover from Hana's bout with the flu two weeks ago. I've given her some children's Tylenol and she's lying down now with a gel-strip on her head. It seems to be doing some good. She wants you to come home, though. She was crying earlier – part of that crankiness, you know – but she was calling for you."

Well, who else would she call out for? _'Momma'_ had stopped answering those calls before Michiko had even turned two. Kamio sighed again. "Tell her I'll be home in about half an hour, please. I have to stop at the store to get stuff for dinner-"

Minagawa-san interrupted him. "Kamio, I made an absolutely huge pot of soup for dinner, and there is plenty for everyone. Sachiko can eat now with Hana, but Miki-chan doesn't want anything until you come, so I'll send it home with you."

Kamio just stood there silently for a second, twisting the phone cord around his fingers.

When Minagawa-san spoke again, her voice was gentle. "Just accept it for today, okay?"

"...of course. Thank you, Minagawa-san," Kamio said finally, tiredly and hung up the phone. Catherine-sensei looked at him and frowned.

" _Are you okay?_ "

" _I'm fine_ ," he said automatically. " _My sister is sick. I have to go home early today_."

" _Is it serious?_ "

Kamio shook his head. " _No, but I should go_."

Anyone else would have perhaps wondered or even asked aloud why Kamio had to go and not a parent, but while she didn't pry into his personal business, Kamio had the feeling Catherine-sensei understood far more about his situation then she let on. The little sympathetic glances she occasionally tossed his way were big enough hints.

It was only five to five. Kamio would be leaving almost thirty-five minutes early. It wasn't like he had to do it often, but he still couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt stab him somewhere in his stomach.

Wandering back out to the court, he could see Sakurai and the other Regulars had finished their stair runs and were stretching themselves out. The last half hour of Monday and Wednesday drill practice was weight and free-training, meaning Regulars worked on what they felt they needed to work on. First years stuck to a strict regimen of sit-ups, push-ups, forehand and backhand swings, serves and beginner target practice. Targets were set up along the tennis wall, and they would line up and hit the ball against the target. Using the backhands and forehands they'd just finished doing a hundred reps of, they had to work on hitting the exact same spot on the target over and over again.

Catherine-sensei would watch from the office – or sometimes join them outside - to ensure there were no incidents, but she couldn't make the necessary observations, so Sakurai would monitor them for the first few minutes too, making notes before leaving them to do his own workout.

He and Ishida would hit the workout room along with Uchimura who, being the shortest member of the team, was determined to be the strongest if he couldn't be the tallest, and would work himself into either a frenzy or a coma, depending on his mood. Mori Tatsunori was always a bit paranoid about his reaction times, and would do speed drills for a while before using the ball-launcher (the only one they had and were super-protective of) on extreme-speed mode to work on his returns.

Shinji would help Norihisa for a little while longer before telling him what he should do on his own, and then head for the practice wall to rally against himself for a while. Sometimes he joined the others in the weight room, but it really wasn't that big and there were sometimes people from other teams in there, which made him nervous, even if he'd never admit it.

An-chan was...watching him. He smiled weakly and she scowled at him, not falling for it. He looked past her and raising a hand, he called out to Sakurai, waving him over.

"'Sup, Buchou?" Sakurai asked.

"I need to leave early," Kamio said quietly. "My little sister came home with a fever and she's been asking for me."

Sakurai tilted his head to the side and Kamio looked back at him. They'd done this the last time Michiko had been sick, and then there was the time Sachiko had come down with the flu. He knew Sakurai was wondering why it was Kamio's problem to deal with and not someone else's – like, oh, say, a _mother_ – but Sakurai had yet to come out and ask him head on.

Sakurai finally nodded. "No problem," he said easily, and Kamio was again thankful that his Fukou-Buchou was such an easy-going person. "We'll just do what we usually do – what we always end up doing when you have to leave. I'll just have the first years clean up, the Regulars cool down, we'll have our orgy in the locker room and then head out."

Kamio nodded at each item on Sakurai's checklist, and then blinked. " What?"

"Gotcha." Sakurai smirked and formed a gun with his fingers, playfully shooting him point-blank in the chest. "Bang."

"You're a _dork_ , Masaya." Kamio smacked him in the head. Ignoring his second's cries of 'Abuse! Torture! Molester!', he turned to head back to the clubhouse.

An suddenly barred his path. "What is it?" She asked quietly.

Kamio exhaled, long and slow; resigned. "Michiko's running a fever," he told her. "I need to go check on her."

"Poor baby," An frowned. "She was sick last week too, wasn't she?"

"Yeah." Kamio shrugged. "She's susceptible to ear infections – that's probably what's causing her fever again this time. Minigawa-san's daughter was sick last week and had an ear infection too, so she's already given Michiko something. Hopefully it'll be gone by Wednesday. They don't usually last long."

"But they're not fun while they do," An said knowingly. "Well, go take care of them, and don't forget to eat something for dinner yourself, okay?" She poked him in the stomach. "It's not right that you have a better figure then I do."

Kamio grinned tiredly and nodded. "Say hi to Tachibana for me."

"I will." An gave him a little push to the clubhouse. "You. Going now. Good stuff."

"Yes, yes..."

**o0o...o0o...o0o**

**o0o...o0o...o0o**

Sachiko was happy to see him but also a little upset because his arrival meant she couldn't finish watching the Pocket Monsters movie with Hana. The fact that she had seen it a hundred times before meant absolutely nothing. Kamio left her to get ready and followed Minagawa-san to the spare bedroom where Michiko was dozing, her face red and blotchy, half from tears and half from the fever.

"Hey, baby girl," Kamio murmured, reaching down to touch her shoulder. Michiko opened hazy eyes, saw her big brother and immediately reached up to him. He sat on the bed and let her crawl into his lap, cuddling her for a minute, letting her take comfort from the fact that he was back. Minagawa-san slipped out the door, murmuring something about making sure Sachiko was ready.

Kamio brushed Miki's hair back and touched the gel-strip on her forehead. It was warm, as though it had pulled the heat directly out of her head and into the strip itself.

"Feeling better, kiddo?"

"Mff." Michiko grunted at him and burrowed closer. He chuckled and gently pulled the gel-strip off her head. The skin beneath it felt warm, but not the flaring heat it had been the last time she'd come home with a fever.

"Wanna go home now?"

"Mm-hmfff." Another grunt. Kamio laughed at her again and stood up, bringing her with him. Carrying her downstairs, he saw Sachiko standing by the door, talking animatedly with Hana-chan about something they'd done in school, and Kamio had no doubt he'd be hearing about it at least three times before bed. Kamio set Miki-chan on the floor and slipped her shoes on her feet.

"Ready, Sachi?"

Sachiko nodded and then Minagawa-san appeared, holding a bag. She handed it to Kamio and he looked inside to see a large plastic container with a lid firmly held in place with kitchen elastics around the entire thing.

"The bowl is microwaveable," she said. "You can give it back to me tomorrow."

Kamio bowed low. "I will. Thank you."

"It's no trouble at all, dear," she said, waving him off. Kamio nodded and then turned around, letting Michiko climb on his back. She wrapped thin arms around his neck and snuggled in close, letting her head rest on his shoulder. Kamio gave Sachiko Miki's backpack to carry as he slung his tennis bag and his own schoolbag over his other shoulder, carrying the soup in his hand.

Sachiko skipped along the sidewalk, cheerfully telling him about how a boy in her class had laughed so hard during lunch that milk came out his nose, and Kamio made the appropriate 'ewwww, GROSS' noises she wanted to hear. Michiko was fast asleep by the time they reached the house, five minutes later.

Kamio had a moment where he had to juggle everything without dropping his bags or dislodging his 'rider' but he managed to liberate his keys from his backpack without incident, and he let Sachiko run ahead of him before closing and locking the gate.

Once inside, he stepped out of his shoes, dropped his bags, told Sachiko to _carefully_ put the soup on the kitchen table, and then carried Michiko up the stairs to the girls shared room. He felt her forehead again, and was relieved to note that it seemed almost back to normal. If it was completely gone by morning, then there wasn't a problem. But if it came back, then that meant Kamio had to take her to the hospital to get looked at, and that meant tracking his mother down for extra money to pay for the trip. He grimaced at the thought.

He quickly swapped her uniform for her pajamas – she didn't want to open her eyes while he moved her arms and legs like a doll, and immediately flopped back over when he finished. He grinned at her and then moved away from the bed, picking up her uniform and shaking it out. It was still clean – she could get another days wear out of it, he noted, and so he hung it up carefully, before leaving the room. He'd wake her up in an hour or so, try to get her to eat something then.

Back downstairs, Sachiko had the TV on, and was lying on her stomach in front of it. Kamio poked his head in. "Homework?"

Sachiko nodded and moved over a bit so he could see the papers in front of her. "It's easy," she informed him. "I finished my math in class, and I just have to write out my words for Japanese class."

"What about English?"

She grinned and rolled over, sitting up to show him a picture of a teddy bear in a tuxedo dancing with a Barbie Doll, numbers scribbled all over it and a legend at the bottom. "Color by numbers," she said. "I know how to read colors and I can read the numbers, so this is really easy."

"I'll check it when you're done, okay?"

"Okay!"

"You hungry?"

"Nope!"

"Good." Kamio went into the kitchen to heat up the soup for himself. After setting the timer on the microwave, he went back out to the hallway and opened his schoolbag. Minagawa-san had made sure he didn't need to cook dinner that night, but he had still stopped by the store for stuff for breakfast. Oatmeal was cheap, and the girls liked it with brown sugar and milk which they still had lots of.

Plus he was home early – it was just past five-thirty, which meant he had extra time. Extra time meant there was a very good chance he would get to bed early tonight. The thought made Kamio very happy. He put the meager groceries he'd purchased away, and pulled his homework out, setting it on the table to get started on while he ate.

The microwave went off and he went to get his dinner, breathing in deep the scent of a homemade meal, and for a split second, a wave of bitter-sweet nostalgia swept over him, dragging him briefly back to a time when there had been homemade dinners every night.

Then the moment passed, and Kamio set the bowl on the table with hands that were shaking only a little bit. The memories had sucker-punched him, taking away his appetite, and the smell that had been so good only seconds before was now making him nauseous.

Kamio scowled and fought back the urge to smack himself. It didn't do to dwell on things he couldn't change. Kamio reminded himself of that fact, and resolutely pulled his homework towards him, determined to put that rule into practice.

He had too much to do to let something as stupid as a memory wear on him and drag him down. It was a poor substitute, but at least homework would keep his mind occupied, and would actually be something useful to him.

Besides, if he focused on negative things, the girls would sense it, and then they would be upset and that was a Very Bad Thing. Kamio shuddered at the idea of twin waterworks going off.

"'Nii-chan?"

"Hmm?" Kamio looked up to see Sachiko poking her head in, her paper in hand. "Wanna see my picture?"

"Sure kiddo. Let's see it."

Sachiko ran into the kitchen and ignored the other chairs in favor of Kamio's lap. She held up the picture and Kamio stifled a laugh. The bear was blue and had number two's written all over it. He looked down to see Sachiko had scribbled out the 'brown' that the two's were supposed to be, and had written 'blue' instead, in surprisingly neat printing. All of the colors had been switched.

"Sachiko?"

"See, the bear is Shinji because he's got blue hair and he's all huggy like a bear," she said matter-of-factly. "See? He's wearing the Fudoumine uniform!" Sure enough, the tuxedo was colored black, but Sachiko had drawn in and colored the pink and white stripes on their jerseys. Kamio choked back a laugh and instead looked at Barbie. Instead of yellow, Sachiko had made her hair brown (making the required number change in the legend below), and had drawn in some pink barrettes. Barbie's dress looked very similar in color to the Fudoumine girls uniform.

"Is that supposed to be An-chan?"

"Uh-huh, because Barbie's pretty and so is An-chan."

Kamio snorted and buried his face in his sister's hair so she wouldn't see him laughing. He was again reminded of how moments like these reminded himself that no matter how hard things sometimes got, there were times when everything was just perfect.

"Sachiko?"

"What?"

It was a good thing Sachiko's English teacher was an open-minded and creative person who would appreciate the extra effort she'd put into her work. He pointed at the paper, grinning widely. "After the teacher marks that and gives it back to you, bring it home, okay? You can show it to Shinji and An-chan on Saturday."

"Okay!"

**o0o...o0o...o0o**

End Chapter 3

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Again, big thank you's to everyone who reviewed. I'm putting a lot more effort into this fic then some other ones I've done in other fandoms, and it's nice to see people enjoying it. :) Also, Writing Kamio interact with his sister's is a guilty pleasure for me. I believe that Kamio is a very caring person beneath that loud exterior – and I believe he's so high-strung and loud because of excessive stress in his life, as you can see here. His sister's are the source and also the solution for his stress.
> 
> The worksheet Sachiko does is actually a color-by-numbers worksheet I've given my students, and I did have one student who didn't like the prescribed colors, so she rewrote them all to suit herself. I was impressed with the creativity and gave her a '100' – she was thrilled.
> 
> Gel strips for fevers are the greatest things ever invented. Sometimes they suck the heat out of you so fast it can make you dizzy. Whee!
> 
> I absolutely HATED doing suicides in high school for basketball, but I confess to not minding the stair runs. Not sure why.
> 
> Finally, if you see any errors or mistakes, feel free to let me know. Please.


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** Life Goes On - 4/?

**Author:** Stormy1x2 (travelingstorm)

 **Rating:** PG-13 (language)

 **Word count for chapter 1(fic portion):** 4891

 **Pairings:** Non-specific (for now)

 

**o0o...o0o...o0o**

"Last lap!" Kamio shouted and watched as the Regulars tore off around the side of the courts, first years desperately trying to keep up behind them. Sakurai held the stopwatch in his hand, and if the look on his face was anything to go by, then he had a feeling someone might set a new club record. "What's it look like?"

"Stamina looks like it's getting up there," Sakurai said, waving the book at him. "A few weeks ago, the first years were practically walking the last lap and the Regulars were a few minutes behind this-" he held up the watch."- so all in all, I think we're improving, Buchou."

Kamio nodded, a small grin curling his lip. Signs of improvement in _his_ team always sent a surge of satisfaction rushing through his veins, a natural high he usually only got through his own matches.

Sakurai had run earlier so he could record times for the others. Kamio didn't run the last laps on Tuesdays and Thursdays, for which only An-chan and Tachibana-Buchou (as long as he lived, he didn't think he'd ever be able to refer to his captain as 'Kippei') knew the reason, but since he was the man in charge, no one questioned him.

Kamio knew he was having a good day. He chalked it up to the fact that he'd been able to get to bed before midnight the night before. He'd gotten as far ahead in his math and history books as he could go without further instruction, and he was set for his English test on Thursday. He'd managed to get the laundry done for that week (hopefully he wouldn't have to do a huge load like that for at least another one), and Sachiko had helped him do the dishes and clean up without fighting him (a rare feat that he had rewarded with an extra fifteen minutes of TV past her normal bedtime).

Oh yeah, _and_ he'd managed to allocate enough cash from his mother that morning to cover an emergency trip to the hospital, in case Miki had woken with another fever. His mother had just waved him to her bag when he'd asked, moaning in pain from her hangover, telling him to hurry the hell up and get out.

But Miki had woke up with a sunny smile, completely fever-free, and so Kamio now had a small fund set aside for an emergency. He liked that feeling. It ranked almost as high on his pleasure scale as getting a full eight hours sleep – something else he'd managed to do the previous night.

The team finished their laps – Sakurai was recording them as they crossed the line they'd drawn in the dirt - and Kamio assigned the cleanup chores before dismissing them.

"Saturday's gonna be good," Ishida said, grinning madly. His time was a whole two seconds faster then the day before, and according to the books Kamio was currently glancing over, he'd hit a new personal best on the bench-press that day. "It's too bad Jackal-kun and Marui-kun both graduated – I'd love to see how we'd do against them this time around, eh Sakurai?"

"You said it." Sakurai handed a towel to his doubles partner. "It definitely wouldn't be like last time."

Kamio winced automatically, the same way he always did every time someone mentioned last year's match against Rikkaidai. The day Fudoumine had their collective butts handed to them by a team filled with Nationally ranked players. While Fudoumine had done an excellent job of getting as far as they had, they still had had only a year of cohesive and comprehensive training behind them, and they had suffered defeat after defeat – as well as the loss of their captain when his leg had become a target of one Kirihara Akaya.

That had been tough to swallow. Sure, they'd rallied back enough that they had still made it to the Nationals – something no one had even thought them capable of – but since then, there was still an urge to settle the score with the team that had so thoroughly defeated them.

And even if they won this weekend, Kamio reflected, it would be a bitter-sweet victory, seeing as how the only person left from that ridiculously powerful team was Kirihara himself. The rest were virtual unknowns, which was the result of having so many third years stacking the deck that year.

"Did everyone hand in the forms this morning?"

Sakurai nodded. "An went around and collected them and handed them in to Catherine-sensei already."

"Did she-"

"Yep, she made doubles." Sakurai's eyes darkened slightly. "That won't happen again, Kamio."

It was a well-kept secret that no one outside of the Regulars, An-chan, Tachibana-Buchou, Catherine-sensei and Akimoto-sensei knew that Fudoumine had almost been disqualified from the Nationals that summer. The forms that had needed signing – injury waivers, parental permission forms – all of theirs had disappeared the day they'd needed to be turned in. Catherine-sensei had left them in the desk in the clubhouse, which was always locked when no one was around, but the Headmaster, the teachers, and the janitors had copies of the keys for emergencies. Kamio and Sakurai had them too, and it made no sense for them to steal the forms, but no one could outright accuse Akimoto-sensei of stealing them, even though he'd walked by the courts with a smirk on his face.

Catherine-sensei, Tachibana and Kamio had spent all morning on the phones calling the parents of all the Regulars to see if they were home, and Catherine-sensei herself had driven them to get their signatures. Ishida's parents had been at work too far away to come back to sign, but Catherine-sensei had bullied the school secretary into giving her the fax number and having the form sent directly to his Ishida-san's office.

By the end of the day, they'd had all the forms ready once again and had faxed them in just before the five o'clock deadline, but the victory was sour in their mouths. There was now a new albeit unofficial rule, that Catherine-sensei would take the signed forms from An-chan, photocopy them and give the originals back to An who kept them in her home until the day of the tournaments. Photocopied forms could be faxed, but the originals needed to be brought for verification on the day of the tournaments. Akimoto-sensei, or anyone else looking for revenge on Kamio's team, would have to find some other way of doing it, now that they were on their guard.

Kamio nodded and relaxed a bit. An-chan and Catherine-sensei had everything under control. "Okay. I can lock up when the first years are done, Sakurai. You can leave with the others."

Sakurai snorted and leaned over, grabbing the book back from Kamio and landing a light punch on his arm. "Very funny, Buchou. Go pick up the girls."

Kamio shot him a surprised look. "What?"

Sakurai had an innocent smile on his face. "What? You do pick up your sisters on the way home, right?"

"Yeah..." Kamio glared at him. "How did you know?"

"Shinji mentioned it," Sakurai shrugged. "I don't exactly live ten kilometers from the school, Kamio. You have further to go, so it makes sense for me to be Lock Up Boy." His voice deepened dramatically on the last three words, and he swept his arm out to point at the sky in what Kamio assumed was supposed to be an imposing stance, keys dangling from his fingers.

"You make a _lousy_ superhero," Kamio informed him. "And if I _ever_ see you in spandex and a cape, I'm demoting you back to first year."

"I second that." Ishida draped the towel around his neck, and shot a wary look at his mischievous partner. "I don't wanna see that first thing in the morning."

Sakurai mock-pouted at them. "You don't think I'd look good in spandex?" he asked, twisting around as though trying to see a new angle of himself.

"Isn't that like girls asking if a skirt makes their butt look big?" Uchimura asked from where he was sprawled out over the bench.

On the ground next to Uchimura's leg, Mori nodded, snickering. "There is no good way to answer either of them."

"Chickens." Sakurai stuck out his tongue.

"Sakurai, if you want to wear spandex and a cape, I'll support you," An-chan said loyally, popping up next to Sakurai and slinging an arm around his waist. She held up her camera pointedly, smirking.

"Someone'd better – it ain't like those spandex will," Ishida commented with a sly grin, nudging Uchimura who hit the ground giggling. Everyone joined in, and for a minute, the courts of Fudoumine rang with the sound of hysterical laughter.

"We missed something. I hate missing things because then they become in-jokes that I never understand and will be left out of, and it's all because I was doing a proper cool down instead of gossiping like the school secretaries." Shinji suddenly stood there, arms folded, glaring reproachfully at his howling teammates. Norihisa peeked out from behind him, eyes wide.

An detached herself from Sakurai and latched on to him instead. "It's okay, Shinji. We're just speculating on how Sakurai would look in a superhero costume made up of spandex. We're being... _supportive_."

Fresh howls greeted her blunt statement, and even Shinji cracked a small smile. Norihisa flushed red but a giggle escaped him anyway. Kamio snickered and hefted his tennis bag over his shoulder.

"You are all _dorks_. I'm leaving," he told his chortling teammate's. "Sakurai, thanks. See you guys tomorrow."

A chorus of 'goodbye Buchou' rang out and An shouted, "Good luck" which probably confused everyone else, but Kamio knew An-chan was skilled in deflecting curious questioners. He waved as he turned the corner around the school building, and was gone.

**o0o...o0o...o0o**

After a quick stop at the fresh market, Kamio ran home at a good clip to make up for not running the last set with his team, arms and legs pumping rhythmically. He'd tightened the strap on his tennis bag so it was securely against his back; it still bounced against his spine but not enough to throw him off-balance. His school bag was wedged inside, nearly empty, the result of getting so much accomplished the night before. There had been plenty of room to add the vegetables he'd picked up in there too, leaving his hands free.

There was an incline near his home along the canal ways and he sped up as he reached it, sprinting up the hill as hard as he could to get that extra bit of hard training into his run. Clearing the top, he slowed back into a light run that would carry him all the way to his street, his feet pounding the pavement in time to the beat playing in his headphones.

The girls were at Minagawa-san's, as they always were after school while he was at practice, but he had to pick them up, cook dinner, feed them, and then drop them off at his next-door neighbours so he could go back out for a different kind of practice. Kamio walked the last few feet to Minagawa-san's gated home, and smiled at the sight of all three girls playing on the battered swing set in the front yard. Sachiko and Michiko seemed to be in the middle of a contest to see who could swing themselves over the bar first, and Michiko was perched on top of the little slide, fingers clinging to the dented metal bars, watching with wide-eyed delight, even as the entire frame of the set itself shook and shuddered under the force of their kicking legs.

Kamio took off his headphones, shoved them in his pocket with his MP3 player, and then folded his arms to let them rest on top of the gate, his head cocked to one side. "I'm here to pick up two packages for delivery!" he shouted.

"Nii-san!" Sachiko shrieked and immediately let go of the swings chains, flying off the seat and landing with a thump on the ground that for a split second, had Kamio's heart racing in fear. He opened the gate and came inside just as she tackled him, wrapping her arms around his waist as far as they would go around his tennis bag. Then she made a face and instantly let go, backing away with her nose wrinkled. "You smell! And you're all wet! Gross!"

"I ran all the way home, brat, what did you expect?" Kamio grinned and ruffled her hair, making her squeal and duck away. Hana had slowed her swing to a stop instead of jumping off like his headstrong little sister, and she ran over to say hello.

"Sachiko, did you see how Hana got off the swing? She let it stop and then got off. She didn't try to fly like a one-winged goose." Kamio waggled his finger playfully. Sachiko scowled while Hana blushed.

"I'm not a goose!"

"And where's my Miki-chan?" Kamio pretended to look all over the yard without seeing the six-year old that was waving at him from the top of the slide. "I know she's here somewhere – I wonder where she could be?"

He walked over and examined the swings carefully, and then the bottom of the slide without looking up. "Where, oh _where_ is Miki?" He pondered loudly, hearing loud giggle from over his head.

"Nii-chan!"

Kamio looked up in pretend shock as Miki came whooshing down the slide, landing at his feet. "There she is!"

He reached down and scooped her up, draping her over his shoulder and parading her back to where Hana and Sachiko were still giggling over Kamio-niisan's obvious foolishness. Minagawa-san came out with the girls bags in hand, just as he reached the front door.

"I thought I heard you," she chuckled. "Practice tonight?"

"Yup. Got just enough time to get some food into these starving tummies-" he poked Sachiko and then tickled Miki's side, making her squirm. "-before I have to head out."

Minagawa nodded as she handed the bags to the girls. "You do too much, Kamio. You're going to wear yourself out if you're not careful." Her tone was light but her words were serious. It both warmed him and made him a bit uncomfortable, knowing that she was saying those things because she was concerned.

He shrugged awkwardly. "I can handle it," he said casually. He had to. There wasn't anyone else who could. "Thanks again for letting them stay here so often."

"It's no trouble Kamio. They play outside most of the time until you get here – it's not like I'm doing any actual work." She smiled, and Kamio knew he was off the hook again.

"Still, thank you." He set Michiko down so she could take her bag from Minagawa-san, and then began herding the two of them towards the gate, checking his watch as he did. He had time enough to make a quick stir fry that the girls really liked before he had to get them over to Makamoto-san's home.

The stir fry was one he'd found on-line at Shinji's months before, a simple orange sauce over chicken chunks and vegetables (broccoli, cauliflower, and carrots), shiitake mushrooms, green and red onions. He poured the whole thing over rice and the girls would all but lick their plates clean. He only had a small portion, but the best part was that it made _tons_ , and so he could stick it in the fridge to eat later, or even the next day. He didn't mind the chewiness of day-old rice, and the girls could eat the veggies with fresh rice for lunch for the next two days.

While they ate, Kamio went upstairs and toweled off, but bypassed a shower in favor of throwing on clean shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt, pausing long enough to pull a brush through his damp, red hair. He pulled a spare set of black track pants over the shorts and grabbed his faded windbreaker on his way out of the bedroom.

Kamio had special practices on Tuesday and Thursday nights, and long ago, he'd worked out a deal with his neighbour. She would watch the girls for two hours (four hours each week total) and Kamio would make it up to her on Sundays by doing various chores that Makamoto-san couldn't do. In her mid-sixties, Makamoto-san was a spry old lady but even she drew the line at mowing the lawn in the summer, or shoveling the driveway in the winter. Kamio would also plant and weed her garden, bathe her dog, clean out the gutters or wash her outside windows – whatever needed to be done.

The girls didn't mind going. They were utterly in love with Makamoto-san's dog, a friendly white ball of fluff that Makamoto-san had adopted from an expat rescue society a few years before, and Makamoto-san, a retired music teacher, had begun teaching the girls piano, for something to do. The music lessons had been a bonus – something Kamio had wanted for them, but could not afford, nor could he convince his mother to pay for lessons. It was a win-win situation for all of them.

Kamio waved goodbye to the girls and headed for the train station. It was almost six-thirty and he needed to be at Tokyo International Track Club by seven. Thankfully, it wouldn't take long to get there – twenty minutes at the most, including the walk from the station to the building, as long as he caught the train at six-thirty-five.

Being a part of the TITC was a secret he'd kept for almost six months now. Not because he was ashamed, but because he didn't want anyone to think he was taking too much on and try to wrestle away his Captaincy. Or accuse him of selfishly trying to be part of two separate clubs. Tachibana and An-chan knew – again, a result of An's nosiness and amateur spy attempts, but Kamio didn't need the whole world watching his business, and so he'd asked them to both keep their mouths shut.

As for how he'd gotten involved with Tokyo's elite track club in the first place, well oddly enough, he had Momoshiro to blame for that. If he hadn't stolen Kamio's bike that fateful day last year, forcing Kamio to chase after him through the streets at a pace he'd never set before in his entire life, then he wouldn't have been spotted by the coach who had tracked him down later...

**o0o...o0o...o0o**

**flashback**

**o0o...o0o...o0o**

_Five and a half months previous:_

Kamio waved to Shinji who waved back and turned down the side road that led to his house. Kamio jogged lightly towards his own, reflecting on the craziness of the past couple of hours. Bike thieves (that _idiot_ Momoshiro, he could have just _said_ something first), Hyoutei harassment (which reminded him he should call Tachibana-Buchou and make sure An arrived home safely), the most _ridiculous_ doubles match he'd ever had the misfortune of playing, purse thieves, homicidal snake boys and Shinji muttering all the way home over the injustice of being denied his grip tape by Echizen. It was enough to give him a migraine the likes of which he usually only got when dealing with his mother for an extended period of time.

As he pulled up to his house, he noticed a stranger standing in front of his gate and his eyes narrowed. The girls were at Minagawa-san's until he got back, but he still didn't like the idea of strangers loitering around his home when he wasn't there.

The stranger turned to look at him as he ran up, and Kamio noticed he was wearing and black and blue track suit and carrying a small briefcase in one hand, a duffel bag over his shoulder. His sneakers looked expensive, but well-worn. The same went with his sunglasses, silver-edged frames that were perched on top of thinning brown hair that showed traces of gray showing through the color job. His face was tanned, but weathered, wrinkles crinkling up the corners of his eyes as he gave a friendly grin to Kamio.

The most surprising thing that Kamio noted, was that he was a foreigner.

"Are you Kamio Akira?" he asked in lightly accented Japanese.

Kamio narrowed his eyes. His grip on his tennis bag tightened. "Who wants to know?"

The man chuckled and reached into his pocket, pulling out a card. "I'm sorry for stopping by so suddenly. Here." He handed the card over to Kamio who took it warily.

_Peter Anderson_

_Coach, Tokyo International Track Club_

There were two phone numbers, an email address, and the address of the track club headquarters downtown. Kamio swallowed as he realized who was standing in front of his home.

" _Mr. Anderson_ ," he choked out in halting English. " _I have watched you on TV before_."

The older man smiled. "If it makes you more comfortable, please speak Japanese. I've lived in Tokyo for over eight years now, and my wife was most insistent that I learn her mother tongue."

Kamio nodded dumbly. Shock. He must be in shock. The man standing in front of him was the man who had coached numerous international racing champions from all over the world. He had spent almost the entire last decade helping Japan train various university athletes to go on to international competitions, even the Olympics, and he ran one of the most elite track clubs in the country.

"Why are...I mean, can I help you with...something?" Kamio's voice trailed off and instead he just blinked. Definitely shock, his dazed mind concluded.

"Actually, you can." The man grinned at him. "I happened to see something amazing not too long ago. A young man chasing a another young man on a bicycle – downhill, no less – and was catching up to him. Any idea what I'm talking about?"

Kamio blinked again and then blushed, as he realized that this man, this famous coach of runners, had seen his mad dash through the streets as he shrieked after Momoshiro. One hand automatically rose to scratch the back of his neck in abject embarrassment. "Heh...ummm..."

"That was you, right?" The man held up a notebook. "I saw you do that amazing stretch down the hill and followed you so I could talk to you. But I was a bit slow, and got to the stairs in time to see you head for the tennis court."

"Ah...hah." Kamio flushed even more. "So you saw what happened then, too?"

"I did." Anderson-san nodded. "I have to admit, I was impressed by how you and that other boy handled those two bullies, after fighting amongst yourselves." His eyes crinkled. "Back where I come from, boys your age usually wind up in massive fistfights."

Kamio blinked. Fight Momoshiro? Over a misunderstanding? Maybe American teenagers were just more violent than Japanese ones. "It was just an accident. He didn't actually steal my bike – he just borrowed it."

"So I saw. And I also saw that match you played. You're a very good tennis player."

"Fukou-buchou of Fudoumine Jr High," Kamio said proudly. After the insult of Atobe walking away without asking his name, it was nice to be able to give his title to someone who seemed to appreciate it. "Why didn't you talk to me at the courts?"

Anderson-san smiled. "You left fairly quickly after that match, but luckily, everyone seemed to know the short-haired redhead, and that boy who loaned your friend a racquet gave me your address after I showed him my card." He shrugged. "I usually end up dealing with the parents first and foremost in my line of work. But no one seems to be home right now, so I thought I'd wait for a bit and see if you turned up." Anderson-san leaned forward a bit. "Do you have any idea how fast you were going down that hill, Kamio-kun?"

"...no?"

"Me neither. But I'd really like to find out."

Oh, how Kamio wanted to shout out ' _ME TOO_ ' to the heavens. Opportunities like these did _not_ just fall out of the sky to land at one's feet every day. But this was THE track club of Tokyo – no, of Japan. The elite of the elite, the place where pros were born.

There was absolutely no way he could afford that kind of specialized, private training.

Kamio looked at the card in his hand wistfully – and then handed it back to him, shaking his head slowly. "I'm sorry, but I don't think I can join your club." Each word felt like a hammer blow against his heart as he spoke them but he steeled himself resolutely. Some things in life were just not meant to be. He knew that better than anyone.

Pete Anderson frowned. "Most parents are pretty eager to have their kids join our track club, once they learn of all the advantages and benefits it provides."

A bitter laugh escaped Kamio's mouth before he could restrain himself. He folded his arms and leaned against the door, suddenly feeling very tired. "It's not that, Anderson-san. My mother wouldn't really care what I joined, whether it was a track club, or a knitting club." He shrugged. "It's more to do with cost. I can't afford to pay club fees for that level of training."

"Your parents might-"

"My _mother_ doesn't have the money," Kamio repeated firmly, stressing his words. "And neither do I."

Anderson-san looked at him expressionlessly, eying him up and down for a minute. Then he spoke. "May I be blunt, Kamio-kun?"

"Yeah?"

"How serious are you, as an athlete?" Anderson-san stared at him with eyes that seemed to look past his outer being, seeing straight through to Kamio's core. The friendly persona was suddenly gone, replaced by a cool and aloof professional. "How dedicated would you be if you _could_ join our club?"

Kamio blinked. "I'm Fukou-Buchou of my tennis team for a reason," he replied, just a touch angry at the implication that he would give less then one hundred percent in anything he did. "I wouldn't do something if I wasn't dedicated to it."

Anderson-san continued to look him over as if considering something. Then he nodded once, and the even, shuttered look disappeared, replaced by the smiling, eager man from before. "I'd like you to come to our practice this week. Give it a shot. Say, two, three weeks? If by the end you're still serious, and you show some real potential to both myself and the other coaches, then we'll let you join under our 'scholarship' program."  
He winked.

"Scholarship?" Kamio's breath drew in sharp and fast, as he realized he had a real chance at the club. Scholarships were heavy deals and only given to people Kamio considered to be luckier than him. "Are you serious?"

"It's not something we offer very often, Kamio-kun," he said, eyes serious. "But that speed I saw...if you work hard, you could develop that into real running power. One hundred meter, two hundred – maybe even the four hundred. You seemed to gain that extra boost partway down the hill."

Kamio's head spun with the possibilities.

"And this would help your tennis too," Anderson-san mused thoughtfully. "Working on stamina and speed could hardly hinder your game, neh?"

"Yeah." Kamio was quivering despite his best efforts to control himself. His tennis game would only profit from real, professional training. He instinctively bowed low, hoping, wishing. "Anderson-san, if you are truly serious, I'd like to take this chance. I'll come to whatever practice you want me to." _Please, please, please..._

"Come this Thursday," Anderson-san said. "Track members usually come five to six days a week, but I don't think you'd have to. What's your tennis schedule like? How do you train?"

Kamio outlined the past weeks training menu and Anderson-san nodded appreciatively.

"Not bad, not bad. If you stick to that, maybe do a bit extra on your own, then I'd say in a few weeks, you could get away with two or three times a week at our club. We have a few other members on other teams who come on Tuesday and Thursday nights, plus Sunday afternoons once in a while."

That was definitely doable. "I'll be there this Thursday, Anderson-san!"

Pete Anderson nodded and shook his hand. "I'll see you there."

Then he was gone, walking briskly down the road to the shiny black car parked at the corner. Kamio hadn't noticed it before, and he wasn't an expert on cars, but he could tell it was an expensive one, all clean and gleaming in in the sunlight. He watched silently as Anderson-san climbed into the back, and then watched it drive down the road, turning and merging into the traffic before disappearing from his sight.

Kamio stood in front of his house, fists clenched, chest heaving as though he'd just run a marathon. Then all of a sudden, he thew his hands into the air and screamed, " _YES!_ "

**o0o...o0o...o0o**

**End Flashback**

**o0o...o0o...o0o**

The TITC building came into sight, and Kamio checked his watch. Six-fifty-two. He was early. That was a switch. Hitching up his duffel-bag, Kamio whistled cheerfully as he strode inside.

He had work to do.

**o0o...o0o...o0o**

**End Chapter 4**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We get more ideas about Kamio's life, some banter among the boys, sibling interaction and yay – a flashback!
> 
> Please tell me if this reads smoothly to you. I don't want to be accused of force-feeding the reader too much information at once, but there were some details that needed to be written here. Rest assured, there are still lots of hidden secrets in Kamio's world.
> 
> A little more sloppily done than the other chapters, but I had so many small details to keep track of.
> 
> Regarding the timeline – the Momo-steals-Kamio's-bike thing happened fairly early in the series (and I don't recall seasons being mentioned other then summer for all the tournaments) so let's assume that THAT incident happened around the beginning of April (Ryoma came late in the season, remember). Then you have the Senbatsu camp arc which took place over Japan's summer holiday (June? July? I know it's one month but not sure which one, so I'm arbitrarily making it July) and then the Nationals took place in early August (I think the poster said the weekend of the 6th or the 12th, if I'm not mistaken). They've been back in school a month now, which makes it the beginning of September for this fic.
> 
> If this isn't quite correct, I'm once again madly waving my 'Creative License' in the air like a madly waving mad-thing.
> 
> Many thanks to Kathy (angelkatchan) for the two hours she spent on-line helping me go through episodes to get all the details so I could write the flashback.


	5. Chapter 5

**Title:** Life Goes On - 5/?

**Author:** Stormy1x2 (travelingstorm)

 **Rating:** PG-13 (language)

 **Word count for chapter 5(fic portion):** 2816

 **Pairings:** Non-specific (for now)

**o0o...o0o...o0o**

**Chapter 5**

**o0o...o0o...o0o**

Kamio loved Fridays. Fridays almost made up for a week of having to get up during the mornings he hated so much. Friday was almost like a day of rest for him and he looked forward to it all week long.

On Friday, he had lunch period, followed by an hour spare, followed by an hour of study hall manned by a teacher who couldn't have cared less about who attended, and kept his nose wedged in a book at his desk. The attendance sheet hung by the wall and students were supposed to initial it if they attended. Ann liked using study hall as a chance to do her homework and didn't mind going. She minded signing Kamio's name even less, which meant after Kamio worked his way through lunch, he had nearly two hours to nap in the clubhouse.

This was a part of his normal schedule, and the other tennis members knew this and made sure to avoid the clubhouse. Waking a sleeping Kamio was a task left to those much braver and stronger then they, especially when one valued his life.

Which was why Mori had once decided Sakurai must have been suicidal, after the vice-captain had volunteered to be the one in charge of making sure Kamio didn't sleep through his last class of the day; he had more then once left help-line brochures in his Fuko-Buchou's locker.

"Come on, Buchou – time for class!"

A low growl came from the form curled up on the stretch mats, huddled under his school jacket, and using his bag for a pillow. "Go. _Away_."

"No can do, Kamio." Sakurai cheerfully whisked the jacket away and started poking him. "If you skip class, the teacher will tell the headmaster, and the headmaster might revoke your – or the entire team's – right to skip class tomorrow to play Rikkai." He gave another poke. "You wouldn't want that on your conscience, would you?"

Kamio cracked one eye open and glared balefully at him. "I hate you."

"You love me," Sakurai corrected, and hauled him upright. "C'mon, the days' almost over and practice is light today. Up and at 'em."

Friday drills were not normally considered 'light' but when they had matches the next day, the last thing anyone wanted to risk was a strain or a pulled muscle. Kamio groaned and let himself get pulled to his feet. Last class today was geography, which he was pretty good at, surprisingly.

He was not usually so difficult to waken, but practice the night before at the track club had been fairly intensive. Kamio had improved his time by shaving off about half a second from his personal best though, so it would be stupid to complain. And the coach had mentioned a meet coming up in a few weeks – Kamio was looking forward to trying out his new speeds against others like himself.

"Kamio, wake _up_!" Sakurai waved a hand in his face. Kamio blinked and nodded, following his Fukou-Buchou out, one hand raised to cover his yawn.

**o0o...o0o...o0o**

"Okay, that's it!" Kamio stuck two fingers in his mouth and let loose a piercing whistle, bringing all activity on the courts to an abrupt halt. The first years immediately scrambled to gather in front of him, and the Regulars followed behind.

Sakurai waved his clipboard at them. "Here's the lineup for tomorrow." Glancing at Kamio, who nodded, he began reading it out loud. "Doubles Two, Mori and Uchimura, Doubles One, me and Ishida. Singles Three is Norihisa, Kamio is taking Singles Two, and Shinji, you've got Singles One which most likely means you're taking on Kirihara, so watch yourself."

Shinji nodded absently, obviously mulling over his strategy. Kamio frowned at his vice-captain. "He's made a change in his style, Sakurai. We saw that at the Camp this past summer, and again at the Invitational."

"Tough," Sakurai said bluntly. "Only you, Shinji and An saw this change of his. Until I see it for myself, I don't trust that red-eyed freak as far as Ishida can throw him."

"Leave me out of this," Tetsu protested.

"Fair enough," Kamio said, still frowning. "Just stow the hostility, okay? Until he does something to be angry about, let it die." Back when he'd been vice-captain, he'd been able to have the privilege of showing his emotions and being headstrong. As Captain, he no longer had that luxury – instead, he had the responsibility to promote good will and harmony with other captains. A responsibility that often taxed him to the limits, he thought ruefully.

Sakurai looked at him incredulously. "He already _did_ something I'm pissed off about. Or did you forget about Tachibana?"

Kamio's fists clenched, but suddenly An was there, poking her finger into Sakurai's chest, backing him up step-by-step.

"Of _course_ he remembers, you twit," she scolded. Irritation shone clearly from sky-blue eyes. "But as you pointed out, Sakurai, you weren't at the Camp and you didn't see what he saw. What we _both_ saw. So drop it. Or are you going to accuse _me_ of forgetting my brother?"

Sakurai blanched, and backed of, hands up in apology. "An..." Sakurai wasn't often on the receiving end of An's wrath, and it was clear he didn't like it, nor did he know how to handle it. "I...you know I didn't..."

An gave a sigh of exasperation, tinged with fondness. "Oh, stuff it you ninny, and come here," she growled, and wrapped her arms around him, giving him a brief but tight hug, letting him know all was forgiven. Then, as she pulled away, she smacked him lightly upside the head. "Now apologize."

Sakurai looked sheepishly at Kamio. "Kamio...Buchou..."

"Forget it." Kamio whacked him on the shoulder. "But just for that, you're supervising the first year's while they clean up."

"Like I wasn't going to do that anyway," Sakurai said, rolling his eyes.

An snorted and turned to Kamio. "Your sisters are still coming tomorrow, right?"

Uchimura blinked. "They are? Don't they have school?"

"Yeah, but their usual babysitter couldn't take them tomorrow." Kamio shrugged. "I knew about a week ago, so I had Sachiko's teacher give me her work for tomorrow in advance. And Michiko's in grade one, so she's not missing anything, really."

"Why do you have to take them?" Ishida asked, confused.

Kamio bit his lip. "Mom works on Saturdays. If it were a regular half day for us, it wouldn't be a big deal, but we won't be back until at least four o'clock and that's _if_ each game doesn't take two hours to finish. Since the babysitter can't take 'em, I have to." He looked at his Regulars defensively. "They won't be a problem-"

"-especially since I'll be the one watching them," An finished for him, slinging an arm around his shoulder. "Relax, guys. Think of it as having two smaller cheerleaders rooting for you tomorrow." She winked cheerfully.

Ishida shrugged. "I don't care," he said frankly.

Uchimura and Mori nodded. "They've come to practices before and weren't a problem," Mori said. "Besides, having annoying siblings tag along is something we Fudouminites are used too, right An-chan?" He yelped and dodged as An's hand came across to try and punch him.

"Annoying? I'll give you annoying! Come here!"

Kamio grinned and watched An chase Mori in circles around Uchimura, before looking back to Sakurai, holding his hand out. "Cool?"

"Always." Sakurai slapped his hand down on Kamio's. "Get out of here, Buchou. I'll take care of the babies today."

An indignant 'hey!' wafted up from the group of first years.

**o0o...o0o...o0o**

The matches had been intense, but it was painfully obvious that the fearsome threat of Rikkai was more hype than might, living off the glory of its former years. Tough players, all of them, but none of them, aside from Kirihara, came even _close_ to the level of the Three Demons. At the end of the day, only Norihisa and Shinji had suffered losses – Norihisa to one of Rikkai's new regulars, and Shinji losing after a hard-fought battle against Kirihara.

Kamio made sure everything had been picked up but he knew he didn't need to worry – Sakurai had been preparing to leave the second Shinji had strode onto the court to face Rikkaidai's Single's 1. Kamio had been the bench coach – not that Shinji needed coaching from _him_ , but Kamio could keep an eye on him better from there, get him focused if he lost himself which happened fairly frequently. In the meantime, he knew Sakurai had muscled Mori and Uchimura into helping pack up the banners, water bottles and the first aid kit.

Sakurai had already offered to bring everything back to the clubhouse since he lived closest to the school, and he knew that Kamio needed to get home as quickly as possible, to reduce the time his sisters spent alone. Kamio reflected ruefully that he really needed to do something to thank his vice-captain for all the hard work he'd been doing.

An and the girls were comforting Shinji. Michiko was still waving one tiny pom pom in Fudomine colors, and Sachiko was chittering away in his ear about how cool he'd looked on the court, even though he'd lost.

Shinji's match against Kirihara Akaya had gone as well as could be expected, and despite losing six games to four, he had been happy with his own performance – at least, that's what Kamio deciphered from his mutterings. Shinji would tear apart his game for the next hour at least, figuring out what he'd done right and how to fix what he'd done wrong.

"Coming Kamio?" Tachibana An waved at him cheerfully. She'd take the same bus as Ishida and Uchimura, getting dropped off a few stops before them. Sakurai, Shinji, Kamio and Mori took the same bus back to their school, but Kamio and Shinji would get off two stops before hand to walk to their homes. Fudoumine's Singles 3, Norihisa Yuki, had left earlier when his parents had picked him up after his match, citing a doctor's appointment as the reason. Kamio could appreciate that, and let him leave without a fuss.

Kamio waved back absently and was about to join his friends and sisters as they headed for the bus stop , when a flash of yellow caught his eye. Turning his head, he saw the Rikkaidai team walk by, laughing and joking. Kamio scanned the group for a familiar mop of hair that resembled black seaweed, and came up short.

Casting his gaze all around, he spotted the familiar form of Rikkaidai's new Buchou sitting on the bleachers, head down, and nearly hidden from sight by the low wall that surrounded the court and kept spectators back. One hand slowly rubbed the other shoulder before dropping back to hang between his knees.

Kamio waited a second, but he didn't move. Was the other boy hurt? Shinji had used the spot technique after all, and it had targeted the same arm that Kamio clearly remembered Kirihara injuring during the Senbatsu tournament only two months before. Shinji's Spot attacked the wrist, not the shoulder, but maybe the move had aggravated the old injury?

And why hadn't any of his teammates waited for him?

Something wasn't right. Kamio felt a familiar pull in his gut and he groaned silently, knowing he wouldn't be able to leave until he made sure the other was okay. It was a well-hidden secret that Kamio was an unbelievable worrywart – well, secret to the general public, at any rate. His team could attest to that fact, as could anyone who watched him with his siblings for any length of time, and while he didn't have any great loyalty to Kirihara outside of the normal bonds of tennis he shared with the other captains of Kantou, he knew his conscience would chew up one side and down the other if he left without at least a 'Hello'.

Besides, he'd never gotten around to asking Kirihara for that match he wanted, right? That would be as good an excuse as any to go over and talk to him for a few minutes.

Kamio looked over to where Shinji was patiently waiting for him, and he jogged over, handing his bag over. "Watch this a sec, will ya?"

"I'll watch it but I seriously doubt anything's going to happen, especially considering that there's no one left here except us, An, your sisters, and that Kirihara person. Sakurai, Ishida and Mori are already at the bus stop and the bus won't wait for us you know, so don't take too long or I'll leave you and your bag here and then you'll be sorry-"

Kamio chuckled, effectively cutting off his friend's mumbles with a short, "Okay, okay, back in a minute. Watch the girls for me." He waved Sachi and Miki over, directing them to wait with Shinji, freeing An to go to the bus stop. Then he turned and jogged in Kirihara's direction.

He slowed down to a walk as he got closer, and still, Kirihara didn't move, perched there on the bench, silent and motionless like a messy-haired gargoyle. Kamio finally came to a stop a few feet from him, watching the boy as he stared hard at the ground, and as he looked him over, Kamio could make out a faint trembling in his hands. He really didn't look well. Concern growing, he cleared his throat.

"Kirihara-san?"

Kirihara's head snapped up in shock so quickly it startled Kamio into stumbling back a step. The other boy's eyes were open wide with surprise and not just a little shock.

"Kamio?"

The lack of any kind of honorific might have bothered Kamio at any other time, but Kirihara looked dazed and confused. _Shell-shocked,_ his mind supplied. Kamio cautiously stepped forward again, and when Kirihara did nothing other then furrow his brow in mute confusion, he sat down on the court ledge in front of the other player.

"Are you okay?"

Kirihara blinked at him. "Huh?"

Kamio shrugged. "Just making sure you're not hurt or nothing. Your team left already – I saw you sitting here, and didn't want to leave before making sure you didn't need an ambulance or something." Kamio noticed Kirihara had flinched somewhat at the mention of 'your team', and the confusion on his face had only grown more and more pronounced with every word he said.

The Rikkai ace sat there for a minute. "What do you care?" he said finally. "I thought you hated me or something. That thing last year with your captain."

Kamio shook his head. Kirihara obviously expected something, some kind of payback in retaliation for his actions last year. He had no clue that both Kamio and An had already forgiven him, back during the Senbatsu Camp when they'd watched him battle Seigaku's Ryoma Echizen in a fair match – proving that he had definitely gone through a change for the better.

"I don't hate you," he said calmly. "You're not the same person you were back then – An-chan and I both saw that at Camp. Besides, after watching you play Echizen, I wanted to ask you for a match myself, but I never got around to doing it." He grinned lopsidedly. "I figured I could use that as a reason to talk to you if it looked like you were going to beat me over the head with your racquet for being nosy."

Kirihara stared at him for a long minute, obviously searching for a trace of something, anything that would disprove Kamio's words. Then, apparently not finding anything, a very faint flicker of a smile ghosted across his face before vanishing, as though it had never been there at all, and he finally nodded. A smirk formed on his face and _that_ didn't disappear. "Yeah, well, anytime you wanna get beat," he said, shrugging.

Kamio grinned. "You know where the street courts are in our part of town?" Kirihara nodded. "Well, I'll be there tomorrow if you wanna make good on that threat of yours."

Kirihara nodded again, slowly, the smirk still in place, but Kamio could also make out the confusion in his eyes, watching Kamio as though waiting for the other shoe to fall. Kamio sketched him a quick wave before turning around.

"See you, Kamio."

Kamio's ears registered the words a few seconds after they were uttered, and he turned back. Kirihara was already walking away, hands shoved in his track pants pockets, head down.

Kamio watched him silently for a few minutes, until the messy-haired boy disappeared inside the team clubhouse, before making a silent vow. If Kirihara showed up at the street courts the next day, Kamio was going to find out what was wrong.

.....Especially since it looked like no one else cared to.

**o0o...o0o...o0o**

**End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this bit is a little shorter than the others, but I wanted to get this up, and it was a good place to stop. I've been playing in the TMNT fandom and got sidetracked.
> 
> I thought about expanding on the matches but I opted not to for a couple of reasons, chief one being that I really don't know too much about the sport itself outside of the anime, and action scenes work best for me when I know the subject matter. Besides, the focus of this fic is NOT on tennis but on Kamio, and I wanted to move this along. I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Feedback loved, worshipped and adored!


	6. Chapter 6

**Title:** Life Goes On 6/?

 **Author:** Stormy1x2 ( travelingstorm )

 **Rating:** Overall PG-13 for language

 **Words:** 3775

 **Pairings:** None, for now. Eventual Kirihara/Kamio later on.

**o0o o0o o0o**

Sunday morning was a beautiful day. Too beautiful, Kamio told himself, to spend it mowing the lawn, but it had to be done. He needed Makamoto-san to watch the girls during his track practices after all. Thankfully her front yard wasn't nearly as big as her backyard, and so when lunchtime rolled around, he was just finishing up.

"A wonderful job as always," Makamoto-san said cheerfully. From the safety of her arms, her dog LingLing barked and scrabbled her paws, trying to jump down. Kamio chuckled and scratched the frantic little mutt under her chin.

"My pleasure, Makamoto-san," he said. "Especially since you started teaching them piano. Sachiko loves it."

"It's my absolute pleasure to teach them, my dear," the elderly lady told him firmly. "I love being retired, but I do miss teaching now and then. And Sachiko is very talented."

Kamio smiled. He loved hearing praise about his sisters. "Thank you."

Makamoto-san smiled and then made a shooing motion. "Well, I won't keep you," she said briskly with her free hand. "I'm sure a young thing like you has a busy day planned."

"Sachi's already at Hana-chan's for the day, so I'm taking Miki to the tennis courts," Kamio told her. "She gets to play in the playground while I see if I can find a practice match with someone."

"You and your tennis," Makamoto-san said, smiling. "And running, of course. Always sports – what more does a young man think of these days?" She winked. "Though I'm still hoping to see a nice young lady on your arm one day."

"Makamoto-san!" Kamio blushed. "I don't have time for stuff like that."

Makamoto-san laughed and waved goodbye. Kamio jogged back to the house. Since they were next-door neighbours, it was safe enough to leave Michiko in their backyard while he did the gardening work for the elderly woman.

Michiko looked up from her dolls as he banged the gate open. "All finished?"

"Yup." Kamio walked over and tousled her hair. "I'm gonna go grab my stuff and then we're gonna go. You ready?"

Michiko pointed at her little 'playbag'. Inside, Kamio knew there would be a water bottle (being an athlete, he made sure his sisters grew up knowing the extreme importance of good hydration), a bucket and shovel for the sandbox, a pack of Pokemon band-aids (Kamio kept a pack of band-aids on him at all times, knowing how prone the girls were to bumps and scrapes) and whatever odds and ends Miki would have stuffed in there, claiming they were necessary. Kamio nodded, and headed inside the house.

His tennis bag was already packed and ready. He changed his shoes – he used his old ones to do yard work; it wouldn't do to have his hard-earned and expensive tennis shoes ruined by mud and dyed green by grass trimmings – and grabbed a water bottle out of the fridge. He downed it in seconds, sticking the empty under the faucet when he finished. After refilling it, he tossed it back in the fridge to chill, and grabbed another bottle to stick in his bag.

Tucking his house key in his pocket, he locked the door and met Miki outside. "Let's go!"

"Mm!" The little girl nodded, and slipped her hand into her brother's.

O0o o0o o0o

The courts weren't very busy when they arrived. Kamio automatically headed to the far court – it was the closest one to the playground on the other side of the protective wall. When he was on the court, he couldn't actually see over the wall into the sandbox, but he could see anyone approaching the playground itself. And Miki had a habit of watching parts of his matches from the top of the slide anyway.

He settled her in the playground with her toys. "You okay, Miki-Mik?"

Michiko nodded.

"All right. Do not leave this area, you understand?" He knew she did – it was a standard rule for her to follow, but he always repeated it anyway. She nodded again, and he let her go. Naturally, she headed straight for the slide first.

Kamio walked over to the court and hopped up on the ledge. Two games were already in progress – a couple of guys who looked vaguely familiar as regular players at the street courts, but far too old to be junior high students. Two more that he recognized as Midoriyama players, but he didn't know them well enough to call out.

Then he saw a familiar face coming up the stairs, and he grinned. An-chan waved as soon as she caught sight of him, heading in his direction. Behind her was Seigaku's Momoshiro and Echizen. Again. Kamio scowled and jumped down off the ledge as they approached. He had no claim on An other than the same protectiveness he showed all his Fudomine players, but something about the way Momo grinned – no, _leered,_ every time he was with An made him want to feed Momo his own racquet.

"An-chan, are they following you again?"

"Of course," she winked. "They're my personal stalkers, of course." An had her own brand of humor, naturally.

"What?" yelped Momoshiro.

Kamio rolled his eyes. It was no fun if Momo panicked before he got to do anything. "Only you, An-chan." He jerked his thumb behind him, aimed at the playground. "Miki's back there if you want to say hi."

An squealed and raced around the wall, as he'd known she would. Momo blinked in confusion. "Who's Miki?"

"My little sister," Kamio said. "You come to play or talk?"

Echizen was already on the court. "I thought you were supposed to be fast," he said calmly. "Are you playing or what?"

Kamio growled and stalked onto the court, leaving a grumbling Momo behind. As Echizen prepared to serve, Kamio found himself giving the grounds another quick scan. Kirihara wasn't there, but the afternoon was still early. He was a little surprised at himself, but he was kind of hoping the Rikkai player would put in an appearance. He hadn't been joking when he'd issued his invitation, and he was definitely curious about what was bothering the other boy.

"Pay attention!"

Kamio looked back just in time to pull his head out of the line of fire of Ryoma's Twist Serve. "Hey!"

"You said you came to play," Ryoma reminded him. Kamio swore the boy's eyes were sparkling with amusement under the brim of his hat. "So play."

Kamio growled and crouched low in readiness. He wouldn't be caught off-guard again.

**O0o o0o o0o**

"Echizen wins, six games to four!" Momoshiro called out gleefully.

Kamio dropped his racquet and flopped back on the court, worn out. He was gratified to see Ryoma do the same, leaning back on his arms and sucking in panting gasps of air. He may have lost, but he had given Seigaku's number one player a run for his money.

Momshiro wandered over and offered his hand to Kamio. Kamio let the other boy pull him up. "Thanks."

"No problem. That was a great game."

"Not good enough to win," Kamio sighed. "But I'm getting there." He nudged Momo in the side. "So, how's it going, Fukou-Buchou-san?"

Momo grinned. "I love it. I get to tell people what to do and they have to listen to me." He threw a sly look over at Ryoma. "Even the wonder child has to listen to me!"

Ryoma rolled his eyes and got to his feet to join them. "Actually, I have to listen to Kaido-Buchou. You, we humor."

Momo feigned hurt. "You wound me," he pouted, folding his arms.

"And you owe me burgers," Ryoma replied calmly. "That was the deal for helping you run yesterday's practice."

"Where was Kaido-san?" Kamio asked curiously.

"Helping Ryuuzaki-sensei fill out the forms for our next exhibition match," Momo replied. "We play St. Rudolph next week."

"I hear Yuuta-kun's got them in good shape this year. Good luck," Kamio said, shaking both their hands. With twin waves, the two took off, and Kamio looked around for another sparring partner. No one. He sighed, and headed for the playground.

Miki and An were on the swings, chattering back and forth. An looked up as he came over. Her eyes twinkled. "Match over?"

"Like you weren't sticking your head over the wall every five minutes to see for yourself." Kamio grumbled.

"Just because you lost is no reason to take it out on me," An told him sternly. Beside her, Miki nodded, trying to imitate An's serious face. "Besides, I was busy spending quality girl time with Michiko, and that's very important, you know."

"Very important," Miki echoed. Her hair was coming loose from her headband and falling into her eyes. Kamio chuckled and crouched down, motioning for her to come over so he could fix it. She giggled as he playfully blew the strands out of her face.

"I've gotta head home," An said, watching them with a smile. "Our family is going to my grandmother's house for dinner tonight. But my brother said to tell you he'll probably be dropping by practice this week to see how things are going."

Kamio nodded. "He knows he's welcome anytime."

An reached down and gave Miki a hug. "Bye Miki-chan," she chirped, and then tapped Kamio on the shoulder as she passed him. He patted her hand automatically, and then waved as she disappeared down the back stairs of the court.

Still no Kirihara. Kamio looked down at his little sister."Ready to go home?"

Michiko made a face and pointed at the sandbox. "Can I play longer?"

Kamio checked his watch. There was still at least two hours before he needed to get back to meet Sachiko at the house and get dinner started. Lots of time, and maybe Kirihara would show up after all. He nodded. "Go ahead, kiddo. I'm gonna see if I can find someone to rally with for a bit, okay?"

Michiko nodded and gathered her things up, dragging them over to the sandbox. Kamio moved back over to the court. There was no one around, so he grabbed a ball and his racquet and moved to one of the practice walls at the edge of the courts.

The steady pace of the drill overtook him and he settled into a decent rhythm. It would have been ever better with his music, but he had a habit of zoning out when he had his player on, and he couldn't do that with Miki there.

Kamio was finally starting to work up a sweat when his workout was interrupted by a an extra tennis ball suddenly slamming into the practice wall. He caught up his own ball and whirled around, stopping short in surprise.

"Sloppy," Kirihara tisked, standing a few meters away, one hand shoved casually into his pocket, the other gripping the handle of the racquet resting on his shoulder. "Are Kanto players always so distracted? You didn't even know I was here."

"Normal people introduce themselves," Kamio countered, relaxing a bit. He was a bit surprised at the surge of emotion he felt when he saw the other boy – relief? Anticipation? "I wasn't sure you were going to come."

Kirihara shrugged. He looked a little uncomfortable, standing there in tracks pants and a black and red windbreaker. His eyes kept darting around the court, looking at each player as though he was expecting someone to jump out and attack. Which was entirely possible, Kamio realized, especially given Kirihara's track record. Out in unfamiliar territory on the word of only a rival, well, he had to give the Rikkai Ace props for courage.

"I wasn't sure I was coming either," Kirihara said roughly. A half-smirk formed on his face. "But I remembered how desperately you want to be beaten, and so I figured I'd better not disappoint."

Kamio grinned. "I could use a good workout," he said, as though he hadn't just played a long match with Ryoma, and shrugged off his track jacket. He headed for the nearest empty court, Kirihara trailing casually behind.

**O0o o0o o0o**

Kamio couldn't remember the last time he'd been pushed so hard. Practice matches with his team were nothing to sneeze at, and exhibition games almost always guaranteed a good workout, but this was something altogether different. Even his match with Echizen hadn't filled him with this much exhilaration. Kirihara was practically yanking out a whole new breed of play from Kamio, and though his limbs were shaking with exertion, he couldn't deny it felt great!

He had expected Kirihara to be the aggressor in their match. He hadn't expected Kirihara to adapt to Kamio's speed, matching him, drawing him out more and more. Kamio found himself responding to Kirihara's maneuvering, rising above what he would normally put into a practice match until everything around him faded away, and there was nothing but the court, the ball, the racquet in his hand, and the sight of his opponent across the net.

When Kirihara won, six games to four, Kamio collapsed to the court, utterly and totally exhausted. His racquet fell from his fingers – that battle had been the hardest match he'd ever played. He didn't even care that he'd lost; without being told, he just knew that he outplayed his personal best. It didn't even feel _close_ to this when he'd lost to Ryoma earlier.

"Why the heck couldn't I have done that in a tournament?" he wheezed, letting his head fall back. A gasping chuckle echoed from across the court – Kamio was gratified that Kirihara was just as worn out as he was.

"When the hell did you get so fast?" Kirihara panted. "Yanagi's data had your speed plotted out along a chart, predicted over the next two years. This wasn't it."

Kamio snickered. "I dunno." Whatever the heck had just happened, that was a first for him. "I think I was following your lead." He raised his head, looking at Kirihara with an odd expression. "You did that on purpose."

Kirihara raised his hands in self defense, but didn't deny anything. "Would it help if I said it was automatic?"

Actually, Kamio _could_ understand. Kirihara was the Captain of his team, just as Kamio was for his. But Kirihara was at a higher level then he was – a result of having played for years, whereas Kamio had only picked up a racquet for the first time as a first year.

Kamio knew what had happened. Kirihara had started off matching to Kamio's level, and then increased his power and speed, making Kamio match his. He continued to do that until Kamio had been playing at full power – and at a level he hadn't been totally sure he could reach – against him. It was a tactic Kamio used on some of the second year players who didn't have the self esteem to reach the next level on their own.

"Should I be insulted that you just treated me like one of your players?" Kamio asked, amused.

Kirihara snorted. "Screw that. You should be thanking me for helping you see some of your potential."

Kamio grinned, and let his head fall back against the court. Suddenly, he gasped and sat upright. "Shit!"

"What's up?"

"How long have we been playing?" Kamio scrambled to his feet – easier said then done, as his muscles protested at having to move so quickly after what they'd just been put through. Staggering upright, he began stumbling over to the side of the court.

"Michiko?"

Kirihara had gotten to his feet – a lot easier then Kamio had, Kamio noted with a mild scowl – and was following behind him curiously as he reached the wall. Kamio peered over and then let out a sigh of relief.

Michiko was oblivious to them, humming absently to herself as she filled a small pail with sand and poured it in th middle. The spot she was digging in was deep – no doubt Miki was digging a hole to China, or something. Kamio pressed his forehead to the wall, relishing the cool feeling of stone against his overheated skin. "Thank the gods."

"Who's she?" Kirihara asked, following his gaze. "Your sister?"

"Yep. That's Michiko." Kamio left the wall, and went over to his bag, reaching in and pulling out his MP3 player to check the time. They'd been playing for over an hour. Kamio blinked. It had felt like a lot longer then that.

"In a rush?" Kirihara asked casually, sidling alongside him, hands in the pockets of his track pants.

"I gotta pick up my other sister in half an hour, but we're not too far away," Kamio said, shoving his player back in the bag. "I don't think we have time for another game, though."

"I could crush you faster," Kirihara offered, grinning wickedly.

Kamio rolled his eyes. "Doubtful," he shot back. "I was so totally keeping pace with you by the end of that last game."

Kirihara cocked his head at him, and he grinned again, but this time there was something else, like a measure of respect showing through. "Yeah, you were," he acknowledged. "Who knows – keep it up, and you might have a chance at beating me in four or five years."

"Try this year at the Nationals," Kamio returned easily. "My team has the advantage this year."

Kirihara's smile disappeared. "That's true," he agreed coolly. Then he shrugged. "But we'll see."

Kamio had the distinct impression he was treading on thin ice, and backed off. Originally, his plan had been to find out what was going on with the other boy, after what he'd seen during Saturday's game. But if he pushed, Kirihara might never tell him.

"Think you'd be able to make it back here for a rematch?" He asked instead, surprising himself.

Kirihara looked surprised too. "Maybe. Why don't you come to my side of town? Our courts are better."

Kamio jerked his thumb back over to the wall, behind which his sister was no doubt uncovering lost archaeological treasures. "I have to watch her. And most likely Sachiko. She's at a friends house today, or else she'd be here too."

Standing up, he slung his bag over his shoulder. Kirihara watched him silently, looking in no mood to hurry off. Kamio studied him for a minute.

Whatever was going on with the Rikkai player, it was obvious he didn't want to leave just yet. As no one had been injured, and Kamio – despite losing – had just played one of the best games in his life, he was in a rather good mood. "Want to get a drink?"

Kirihara looked surprised. "Huh?"

"You. Me. Michiko. Get a drink. You know, the stuff in liquid form? Keeps you from getting dehydrated?" Kamio mimed downing a bottle of water, and snickered as Kirihara scowled at him.

"Shut up, I know what you mean. I'm just surprised you're asking me."

"Why?"

Kirihara scowled again, but stayed stubbornly mute. Kamio shrugged. The other boy would tell him if he felt like it. "Come on."

He didn't wait to see if Kirihara followed, but walked around the dividing wall, heading for his sister. "Michiko!"

She didn't look up, but he hadn't expected her to yet. Kirihara appeared at his side.

"What's wrong with her?" he asked bluntly, eying Michiko warily. "Is she ignoring you?"

Kamio shrugged. "Nope," he said, and walked over to his sister. His shadow fell over her, and she looked up at his approach, a smile spreading over her face. "You coming, kiddo?"

"Yup!" She nodded and reached up, threading her fingers through her brother's. Then her eyes fell on Kirihara, and her head tilted to one side, like a cocker spaniel puppy eying a new toy that was just presented to it. "Who's that?"

Kirihara raised an eyebrow at Kamio who shrugged again. He knew Kirihara was wondering why Miki-chan hadn't noticed their arrival. He looked back down at his sister. "He's a...friend. This is Kirihara-kun."

"Your friend? Like Shinji-niichan?"

Kamio blinked. "Well..." Wouldn't it be a bit presumptuous to say yes? Or would it be an insult to say no?

He didn't have to answer, as it turned out. Kirihara spoke for him.

"Yup, good friends, kid." Kirihara cut in, grinning fiendishly. Kamio shot him a look that would have curdled milk. "Well, aren't we? Kamio- _kun_?

Kamio fought back the urge to smack the other boy. They were on friendly terms now, apologies all nice and accepted, a fun match just played, and that meant abuse was no longer warranted between them. "Right. Good friends."

"Okay, Kiri-niichan," Michiko said with a shy smile, and Kamio watched with delight as the smirk froze on Kirihara's face at the sound of such a _cute_ nickname.

"Michiko, you can play for a few more minutes, okay? I need to talk with...Kiri-niichan." Kamio was very proud of the fact that he did not snicker. She nodded and darted back to the sandbox, eager to have a few more minutes to add to the re-creation of Mount Fuji she'd apparently started in the center.

Kirihara watched her go, and then turned to Kamio, quirking his brow. "Well?"

"...she has hearing problems," Kamio said finally, watching his sister pack the sand up. "She can hear loud noises easily but she needs to pay attention to hear anything quiet. And it's hard for her to switch focuses quickly. When she concentrates on something, the easiest way to get her attention is something physical, like touching her shoulder, or like just now, when she saw my shadow in front of her."

"Was she born like that?"

Kamio shuddered briefly as a horrific memory suddenly surfaced like a great white shark in his head, taking a vicious chunk out of his mental armor before he automatically fought it back down. "Yeah."

Kirihara watched him for a minute, obviously waiting for a more detailed explanation, but Kamio didn't feel like going into it, and after a minute, the messy-haired boy shrugged. "She's cute."

Kamio glanced at him, and then back at Michiko who had to stand up to dump more sand on the mountain before her, a faint yet fond smile curling his lip. "Yeah."

They stood there silently for a few minutes, just watching Miki-chan destroy Mount Fuji by flopping face-first into the mound. Then -

"Tell her that nick-name is off-limits, Kamio- _kun_."

Kamio snorted. "Oh no, you're on your own with that."

**o0o o0o o0o**

**End chapter 6**


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kamio just can't get a break. More drama with his sisters, more helpful neighbours, and a bit more background on the Kamio family. A nice long chapter to make up for the shortness of the last one ( and to again apologize for the 7 month delay). Though don't expect them all to come this fast. :)

**Title:** Life Goes On 7/?

 **Author:** Stormy1x2 ( travelingstorm )

 **Rating:** PG 13 overall

 **Word Count:** 5789

 **Pairing:** Eventual Kirihara x Kamio

**o0o o0o o0o**

Kamio didn't know what possessed him to invite Kirihara to go for a drink, but he was a little surprised by how easily the time was passing. Kirihara seemed to be on his best behaviour – whether that was for Kamio's benefit, or because Michiko was there, well, Kamio wasn't sure, but either way, he was enjoying himself.

Not far from the street courts was a small, café-style restaurant that served bubble tea at a reasonable price. Kamio checked that he had enough money, and ordered Michiko a small blueberry tea, mentally reminding himself to buy one to go for Sachiko, or else he'd never hear the end of it. He got himself a bottle of water, and wasn't surprised when Kirihara ordered the same.

Settling down at one of the small tables outside, Kamio uncapped his water and took a long swig. "Shinji's gonna be mad at me," he said casually, attempting to break the silence.

Kirihara looked at him out of the corner of his eye as he took a drink of his own water. "Why?"

"He was beating himself up over his loss to you yesterday. He's going to be mad I didn't tell him you were here today. I know he'd love a chance at a rematch."

Kirihara shrugged. "He played well. That Spot technique of his is a real _bitc_ —" he froze, his gaze snapping to the side where Michiko was watching him with innocent eyes. "—a real pain to get past, especially if you're not a Nittoryu player." He set his water bottle down on the table. "I really have to work on that."

"Playing Nittoryu?" Kamio asked, perking up. "You're trying to learn how?"

"If Echizen can do it, so can I," Kirihara said resolutely. "It just means a lot more practice. I can play left or right-handed if I have to, AND if I start out playing with that hand, but it's hard to switch mid-game." He picked at the paper label on his water. "And if I learn it, Shinji's gonna have to learn a new trick in order to beat me in a rematch."

Kamio nodded, but Michiko suddenly piped up. "Shinji-nii can beat anybody!"

Kirihara raised an eyebrow. "Really?" He leaned down so he was facing her closer to her level. "And what does a midget like you know about tennis?"

For a second, Kamio thought he might have to intervene, but then Michiko smiled up at Kirihara, apparently seeing right through him.

"Everything," she assured him. "What's a midget?"

"Someone whose short with red hair," Kirihara said, reaching out and tweaking a fly-away strand of her bangs. "Know anyone like that?"

"Akira-niichan!" Michiko giggled. "We're midgets!"

Kamio glared at the other boy. "Gee, thanks," he drawled, though not really minding. He was more amused at the unusual gentleness with which Kirihara was treating his sister. Still, he waited until Miki turned back to her drink before sticking his tongue out at Kirihara, silently promising revenge later.

Kirihara grinned, and finished his water.

**O0o o0o o0o**

Kamio checked his watch as they left the café. He had to be at Minagawa's house in five minutes unless he wanted to put up with Sachiko whining that he forgot about her. Giving the strawberry bubble tea to Michiko with orders not to spill OR drink it, he turned to Kirihara. "I gotta get going."

"Me too," Kirihara said, slouching a bit. He made no effort to move though, and glanced at Kamio. "Were you serious about next week?"

Kamio blinked once, confused, before remembering the conversation they'd had back at the courts. "Why not? As much as I hate to admit it, I learned a lot from you in our match today. I'd like a chance to try that again." He shrugged. "As long as you don't mind coming here, that is. Like I said, I have to watch my sisters." He tousled Michiko's hair, making her squeak. "Unfortunately, we come as a package deal."

"I can see that." Kirhara waved his hand airily. "I don't care. The brat's not so bad."

"I'm not a brat!" Michiko pouted, folding her arms and pouting up at the older boy.

Kirihara snickered. Then, to Kamio's surprise, he reached and ruffled her hair the same way Kamio had. "You're right, you're not. Forgive me?"

Michiko nodded, still watching him warily.

"Good."

Kamio had a thought. "Here, wait." Reaching into his bag, he pulled out his battered cell phone. It had originally belonged to Shinji back in first year, until Shinji had gotten a new one for his birthday. Since Kamio couldn't afford one, he'd given it to him. Kamio had used a bit of the extra money he'd gotten from his mother when he'd thought Michiko would need a doctor, to put some extra time on it. "In case you can't make it, or something." He shrugged, suddenly embarrassed. "Or if you want to come over another time. If you have the time, that is."

He wasn't sure why he'd given that extra invitation. Maybe it was the way Kirihara kept hesitating every time he made mention of leaving, or the way he naturally acted with Michiko. Usually people were off-put when they learned of Michiko's mild disability. It made them uncomfortable to the point where they treated her either like fine china, or they tried to pretend she wasn't there. Worst case scenarios had parents telling their kids to avoid her, like hearing problems were something they could catch, like an infectious disease.

Other then the single comment he'd made back at the court when Kamio told him, he hadn't treated her any differently then he treated Kamio himself. That instantly gained him more of Kamio's respect, even more so then what he'd earned by just showing up, far away from his comfort zone.

It could be that. Or it could be the way Kamio was positive he wasn't imagining the loneliness in the other boy's eyes. Kirihara was the last remaining member of Rikkai's powerful team, and Kamio was sure that no matter how Rikkai respected their captains, the bonds being forged this year were no way close to being the same. No one in Fudomine would have left a team member behind the way Kirihara had been left the day before, that was for sure.

Kirihara hesitated before reaching out to take the phone. He punched in his name and number and handed it back. Then he fidgeted, squirming in place for a second, before glancing back at him and muttering whether or not he could have Kamio's.

Kamio grinned and obligingly programmed his number into the sleek black cell phone Kirihara thrust at him. Then Kirihara snatched it back, nodded and abruptly turned.

"See you next Sunday," he said, with a casual wave.

"Bye Kiri-niichan!" Michiko chirped, waving wildly.

Kamio laughed out loud as Kirihara flinched in the middle of the sidewalk, obviously cursing Kamio for not discouraging her use of that name. Then he was gone.

Kamio reached down and took his little sister's hand. "Time to go home, " he said, and she nodded, swinging his hand back and forth.

**o0o o0o o0o**

If Kamio had known just how stressful his life was going to become that day, he probably would have stuck his head under his pillow and gone back to sleep to try and avoid it. Not that he would be able to for long, but he would have, you know, _tried._

It started the following Thursday morning, when Sachiko shuffled into Kamio's bedroom a good half hour before his alarm clock was supposed to go off. Kamio thought he was still dreaming when he felt a small hand grip his arm and shake it.

"'Kira-nii," said a small, pitiful voice.

"Mmphff." Kamio groaned and raised his head from where it had been plastered face-first to his pillow. "Sa'ch'ko? Whussrong?" Blearily, he looked over at his desk, squinted to make out the time, and then prayed he was looking at it wrong. "Sachi, go back to sleep. It's still early."

"Akira-nii, I don't feel good," Sachiko whined, and sniffled once for effect. Kamio pushed himself up, dragging his knees underneath him. After a minute, he felt he was awake enough to figure out what was going on, and he looked at Sachiko again.

"Oh, _no_." Sachiko's arms, face and neck were covered with small red welts that looked like mosquito bites, but Kamio knew better. "Chicken pox."

"What?" Sachiko asked, still sniffling.

Kamio shook his head, and tugged her into his arms, giving her a comforting hug, and pressing the back of his hand to her forehead at the same time. Not overly hot, but not normal either. He yawned widely, and reached over to shut off his alarm clock – obviously there wouldn't be a need for it today. "All right Sachi, go back to bed. I'll be there in a minute, okay?"

Sachiko nodded and padded out of his bedroom. Kamio sighed and got up, throwing an old t-shirt on. He opted keep his pajama bottoms on instead of getting dressed – it wasn't like he was going anywhere that day.

Downstairs, he poured a glass of juice for Saichiko and grabbed the thermometer and one of the gel foam strips he used for Michiko's fevers. As an after-thought, he also grabbed the bottle of children's Tylenol. As he started back up the stairs, Kamio was struck by a sudden thought – Michiko had never had the chicken pox either.

"Well, that's just great," he muttered to himself. Still, he rationalized, it was better to have both of them down and out with it at the same time, rather then having to go through it again later on.

Sachiko sat up in bed to drink her juice, and didn't put up a fight when Kamio stuck the thermometer in her ear. It beeped, and he took a look: 100.3.

"Looks like you're gonna live," he said, smiling, and was rewarded with a tiny grin from his sister. He peeled off the protective backing from the foam strip and stuck it on her forehead. She scrunched her nose at him when her bangs caught on the sticky edge, but he pulled them free and tapped her nose. "All set."

"No school today?" she asked, setting her glass down on the bedside table, and snuggling down under her blanket.

"No school today," he agreed. "Lucky, lucky, huh?"

She was dozing off, and Kamio thanked his lucky stars she wasn't itching much yet. No doubt that was going to change soon though, and Kamio tried to remember what his mom had done for him when he'd gotten the chicken pox. Then he remembered with a sharp pang, that it had been his dad who'd slathered him in calamine lotion and read comics to him to keep his mind off the itching. That had been when he was seven years old. Sachiko had been just under a year old, and somehow never caught it. Michiko had been been born a year later, and Kamio's dad passed away from cancer not long after his ninth birthday. Sachiko had been three at the time. Michiko had been barely a year old.

Kamio shook his head. He didn't have time to be lost in memories. A quick check of the bathroom revealed a lack of calamine lotion, and he made a mental note to ask Shinji to pick some up for him later. He'd have to call the other boy anyway to get his homework assignments.

Back in the girls room, he pulled Michiko's blanket down and checked her face and arms. No spots yet that he could tell, but her skin was red and her forehead was hot. No doubt she had it too. Kamio bit back a curse, and gently roused his baby sister.

"Miki-chan, wake up."

She didn't want to, not that he blamed her, and he finally gave up, turning her head enough that he could read a reading on the thermometer. 101.1. Warmer then Sachiko, but still not dangerous. He plopped a gel strip on her head too, grinning as she made the same face Sachiko had, and then stood up, contemplating his next move.

 _Sakurai_ , he decided. His vice-captain needed to know he wouldn't be at either practice today. Then Shinji, then the school, and then Minagawa-san, in that order.

Sakurai took the news easily enough, though it was obvious he wanted to ask more questions. Kamio told him he'd get the whole story next time he was there. It was only fair. And honestly, Kamio had known this day was coming for a while

As a first year with no real team responsibility, it was easier to hide his home life. No one at the school really cared if he called in sick, or thought twice if he skipped a club meeting. He was lucky in that Minagawa-san knew exactly what his days were like, having lived down the street from him all his life, and of course, her daughter being best friends with Sachiko for the same length of time. And Makamoto-san knew to an extent as well, having helped him out with babysitting and numerous other things over the years.

It wasn't until his second year, when he'd been made vice-captain of the tennis team. It had been hard trying to juggle his responsibilities to his sisters, and to his team, and to this day he still felt like he was taking advantage of his neighbours. When An followed him home and found out the truth – and as a result, so did Kippei – it was almost a relief. Shinji knew too, but that was a result of living nearby, and he helped Kamio by double-checking Kamio's homework, knowing Akira lacked the time to do it himself.

But now, he was the captain, with even more duties on top of the ones he already had. An was a help, of course, and Catherine-sensei did what she could, but Sakurai had already picked up his slack a lot in the last month, and it was only fair that he know the reason why.

Kamio dialed Shinji's number. It rang twice, and Shinji's mom answered cheerfully, before handing the phone off to her son. "Shinji?"

"Kamio? Why are you calling so early? There must be something wrong – you never call this early. Did you forget to do your homework last night? I can't see how – you're ahead in most of your classes but it's always possible to forget something."

"No, it's all good. In fact, I was wondering if you could hand it in for me." Kamio tapped a pencil against the phone idly, glancing over at his schoolbag. "Do you mind swinging by and picking it up for me? And bringing todays assignments over later?"

"Are you sick?"

"No, but the girls are. Sachiko's covered in chicken pox, and I have a feeling Michiko's right behind."

"You've already had the chicken pox, yes?"

"I'm safe." Kamio remembered the other reason he was calling. "Also, on the way home, could you pick up some calamine lotion? I just checked and we're all out. Sachi's not itchy yet, but she probably will be soon enough. I'll pay you back later."

"Don't worry about it," Shinji said calmly. "I'll be by in about an hour to pick up your stuff. Did you call Sakurai? He should know that he's running today's practices before they start – it's not fair to surprise him like that, even if it is fun to watch him freak out."

"I called him. Are you implying I deliberately freak him out for entertainment purposes?" Kamio asked, grinning.

"I can hear you smiling. That's mean of you."

"I know, I know. See you in an hour."

Kamio hung up the phone and checked the time. It was nearly 6am. The girls school opened at 6:30am to let early morning drop offs in, but the secretaries office was open at six. Kamio squared his shoulders. He knew what was next.

Grabbing the cordless, he walked back upstairs and headed for his mother's room. She was there, snoring heavily. The room still stunk of alcohol, but it wasn't as strong as usual. That was either good or bad. Either she went easy on the booze at the club for one night, or she took something else instead. Regardless, Kamio still approached her cautiously, calling her name from a few feet away.

"Whaaat?" she croaked, glaring at him from beneath strands of greasy red hair. Her eyes were blood-shot, and he could smell her breath from there.

"The girls are sick," he said quietly. "I need you to talk to the school." He pressed 'send' on the phone, and spoke to the school secretary when she picked up. "Hello? Hi, I'm calling to inform you that Kamio Sachiko and Kamio Michiko won't be attending class today or for the rest of the week, most likely. They've come down with the chicken pox." A beat. "I'm their brother, Kamio Akira. My mother is right here." He handed the phone to his mother who groaned something about pain in the ass children and barely managed to hold the receiver up.

"Yeah.. yeah, they're sick, yeah... look, talk to my son, okay?" She dropped the handset and burrowed back under her pillow.

Kamio glared at her and picked up the phone. "I'm sorry, my mother's been sick for the past couple of days with the flu. It's hitting her hard." He walked backwards out of her room and closed the door. "Yes, I'll be sure to get her homework picked up. Thank you very much. Goodbye."

So far, so good. Kamio yawned again and stretched, before dialing yet another number.

"Minagawa-san? Hi, it's me, Akira. Sachiko and Michiko came down with the chicken pox... oh, really. Well, that explains it. Did Hana-chan ever get them?... Ah, so you're on the look out for them too, ne? ... No, I'm staying home today. I'm going to call Makamoto-san and see if she's available to watch them tomorrow... No, I couldn't ask..." Kamio sighed. "Minagawa-san... I... yes. Okay, thank you. Thank you very much."

Kamio hung up the phone, and rested his head against the wall for a minute. Minagawa-san ran her own consulting business and did most of her work out of her own home. She had appointments to run that day, but there was nothing scheduled for Friday that would take her out of the house, and so she'd volunteered to watch the girls for him. It was best, after all. His mother would likely be gone by one-o'clock anyway, and she had a habit of leaving the house without verifying if anyone was home. Kamio had found that out the hard way one day when he'd come home to find his mother out, Sachiko at Hana's house, and baby Michiko sleeping alone in her crib for at least three hours, as far as he knew. Since then, he'd taken it upon himself to arrange for babysitting.

Kamio knew his home life probably would have horrified proper authorities, which was precisely why he did his best to handle things himself. All it would take would be one phone call to Child Services, and the next thing he knew, he and his sisters would be split up. Kamio could handle taking care of his sisters. He could not handle losing them.

He could wait two more years. When he was sixteen, the bulk of his problems would disappear thanks to an insurance policy and a clever set up by his father and his father's attorney friend. He just had to hang on two more years. In the meantime, he had to keep appearances normal, and keep his mother happy by letting her do what she wanted. She didn't give a damn about any reputation she might have had – all he had to was annoy her once too often, and she'd make the call herself. _'Is that what you want?_ ' she yelled drunkenly, the year before. ' _To have your sisters split up and put in abusive foster homes? And you, you're too old for anyone to want you! But go ahead, call!'_

Kamio shook his head. No, definitely not worth the trouble. But at any rate, he didn't have to worry about tomorrow, Shinji would handle his homework, and Sakuri was covering practices. He made one more phone call to his own school and left a message stating he wasn't going to be in. The school would want a note the next day (which he wouldn't have) and if he didn't provide one, they'd leave an automated phone message informing his mother (which he'd delete). Considering how many delinquents went to their school and skipped classes, the school did the bare minimum to cover its own ass about keeping parents informed. After that, the school considered their work over and done with. Kamio smiled ruefully – who would have thought the lazy and haphazard efforts of the Fudomine educational staff would ever work in his favor?

Sighing, Kamio grabbed his bag and began separating his homework for Shinji to hand in with his own. He ate a quick breakfast of toast, deciding to wait on cooking anything more elaborate in case the girls woke up and were hungry. Not long after, Shinji appeared at his door, a little earlier then he'd said he would.

"Come on in."

Shinji obediently came in, and held up a small bottle. "Here. Mom found this after I told her what you needed me to pick up. There's not much but it will help if the girls get itchy during the day, until I pick some up this afternoon."

Kamio accepted it gratefully. "Thanks Shinji. Tell your mom thanks, too."

"She already knows." Shinji headed straight for the kitchen table. "Do you need me to check your homework?"

"Nah, I think it's all good." Kamio handed it to Shinji piece by piece so the blue-haired boy could put each section with the proper class. "I've got a sitter for the girls tomorrow too, so I'll be at practice."

"That's good to know." Shinji checked his repacked bag and put it back on, grabbing his tennis bag. "I'm going to go early and help Sakurai get set up."

"Tell him he's been temporarily promoted to Buchou for today," Kamio said with a laugh. "Which means you get the spot of Fukou-Buchou today."

Shinji smiled, amused at that. Kamio let his friend out the door, and watched until he disappeared around the corner. Then he clapped his hands briskly. Since he was stuck at home for the day, he might as well be useful. He was sure there was more laundry to be done around here somewhere...

**o0o o0o o0o**

By Saturday, Kamio was dead on his feet. As predicted, Michiko had sprouted full-blown chicken spots Friday morning and needed to be dosed in calamine like her sister. Kamio figured since he'd skipped track practice Thursday night, and had a day off school, in theory he should be more rested, but that wasn't the case when one had two sick little girls up all hours of the night, complaining of being hot and itchy. Besides cool baths, reapplications of lotion, and children's Tylenol to keep the fever down, there wasn't much more he could do. After one day of nearly being driven up the wall by cries of 'Kira-nii, I'm _boooored_ ', and 'Kira-nichan, it's _itchy_ ,' he was pathetically grateful to Minagawa-san for taking them on Friday, and escaped to school. He felt guilty at the joy he felt at being away from home, but didn't dwell on it too long. He had a practice to run.

He skipped classes on Saturday morning, but a deal with Makamoto-san left him free to go to afternoon practice where he had the others engage in practice games for two hours straight. Then he collapsed on the bench and demanded that Shinji carry him home.

"I have enough to carry with my school bag and tennis bag, and most likely yours as well, since you're putting up such a fuss. I'm not carrying you too," Shinji informed him.

"Fine, see if I care." Kamio sat up with a groan. "Oh, my back."

Shinji waited patiently until Kamio finished locking up. Sakurai had offered to do it again, but Kamio was still feeling guilty about skipping out on Thursday, regardless of reason. He'd also filled Sakurai in on the whole story, and Sakurai, true to form, had offered to help out in any way he could. Kamio smiled at the memory – he truly had the best friends.

"Up for a jog?" Screw running. He was too tired to race home, but he couldn't quite make himself walk either – Makamoto-san was doing him a favor, and it wouldn't do to keep her waiting.

Shinji gave him an assessing look, but then nodded, hefting his bag higher on his shoulder. "You should make Momoshiro buy you a new bike," he said with a frown. "Then we could ride home."

Kamio shrugged, starting off at a slow pace. Shinji matched him easily. "Doesn't really matter," he said. "He said he'd pay for damages – I just haven't taken it in yet. Besides, I don't mind running. It gives me a workout when I can't stay for extra practice." He shot Shinji a knowing look. "There's nothing preventing you from riding yours," he pointed out.

Shinji shrugged. "'It's safer to travel together'," he quoted from the list of rules their group had come up with back in first year to protect themselves from their sempai. The threat was long gone, but some habits were hard to break, and even now, two years later, it was rare to find any of their friends walking to or from school alone.

Kamio chuckled but didn't disagree.

Back at the house, Kamio invited Shinji to come in and hang out for a bit. He nearly stopped dead in the doorway at the tantalizing smells that drifted through. "Makamoto-san?"

A high-pitched yapping answered him. Lingling shot through the living room and launched herself at Kamio who reached out with lightening quick reflexes and caught the frantically quivering dog. "Whoa, hey, you know who I am!"

"She's always a bit protective, you know that," Makamoto said as she came into the room. She was wiping her hands on a dish towel – Kamio thought shamefully of the breakfast dishes he'd left in the sink. "Hello Akira, hello Shinji. It's good to see you again."

"Makamoto-san," Shinji said politely, bowing low. Kamio knew Shinji liked the old woman. She didn't treat him and his mumbling any different then she did Michiko and her attention and hearing problems.

"I hope you don't mind, Kamio, but I took the liberty of cooking dinner for you. I brought some things over from my house, so don't you worry about running out of anything."

Kamio blushed. "You didn't have to do that."

"Precisely why I did it, young man. And don't insult an old woman by refusing her offer. I'll be very hurt if you don't at least try some of it." She winked, and moved back into the kitchen.

Kamio followed her and watched her hang up the towel. As he'd suspected – all the dishes in the sink were now sparkling on the draining rack. "Makamoto-san..."

"Hush, dear." Makamoto clapped her hands and held her arms out for her dog. Kamio handed the now-calm animal back to its rightful owner. "Now, the girls are upstairs having a nap. You're mother- "Makamoto shook her head sadly. "-left rather abruptly several hours ago. She wasn't very happy to see me, but she didn't seem to care very much."

"She never does," Kamio muttered.

"Yes, well..." Makamoto trailed off in sympathy, before returning to her summary of the days events. "The girls were complaining of itches so I helped Michiko cover the worst with the lotion. She wasn't too bad, but Sachiko wound up having another cool bath this afternoon to help." She clucked her tongue. "Poor girl has it worse then Miki, that's for sure."

"Should I make a doctor's appointment?" Kamio asked, unsure.

"Whatever for?" The old lady smiled kindly at him. "Akira, you're doing everything just right. Tylenol for fever, lotion for the spots, no scratching, and for whatever else that ails them, there's always ice cream."

Kamio raised an eyebrow at that. "Really?"

"Mmm. Ice cream has curative properties, you know." She winked at him. "Anyway, it's nearly five-thirty now. I've got to get going. My daughter is coming at six o'clock to pick me up. I'm going out to dinner with her and her husband."

"Thank you for your help," Kamio repeated, sounding like a broken record, but not knowing anything else to say. "I appreciate it."

"I know you do, child. I'll be over Monday morning to watch the girls for you, all right?"

"Are you sure?" Kamio studied the ground, unable to look his neighbour in the face.

"Akira." Her voice was suddenly strong as steel, and Kamio looked up quickly. "If I didn't want to do it, I certainly wouldn't offer."

He nodded.

"Good. Lingling and I will see you then." She patted him on the shoulder as she went by, and Shinji waved at her from his perch on the sofa in the living room. "Have a good evening, Shinji."

"You too, Makamoto-san," Shinji said, rising to bow at her again. She and her dog disappeared out the front door, and Shinji went and locked the door behind her.

"You hungry, Shin?" Kamio nodded his head at the food sitting out on the table. "I'm gonna run up and check on the girls. Help yourself."

Shinji nodded, and Kamio jogged up the stairs. Peeking in the girls door, he saw Michiko fast asleep, breathing evenly, fingers wrapped around her teddy bear. Above her on the top bunk, Sachiko was tossing fitfully. A new gel strip was on her forehead, and he could see the patches of pink lotion drying on her skin, forming a crust over the spots. He walked over and tucked her own teddy bear under her arms; she grabbed at it, murmuring something he couldn't make out. He straightened out the twisted sheets, and she settled down a bit, turning on her side.

He tip toed out of the room and went back downstairs. Shinji looked up. He'd spread their homework all over the coffee table. "How are they? Are they still sleeping? I assume they are since they didn't follow you down, and I don't hear squeals."

"Out like a light," Kamio said. "Okay, what do we tackle first?"

"History," Shinji decided, and they got to work.

**o0o o0o o0o**

Kamio went through Sunday morning thinking there was something he needed to do, but couldn't remember what it was. Between Sachiko's whines for more lotion, and Michiko complaining there was nothing on TV, he was worn to a frazzle as it was, and decided it couldn't be that important. It wasn't until he'd finished serving the girls soup and crackers for an early lunch that he remembered he was supposed to meet Kirihara for another match at the street courts.

With all that had happened in the week, his match with Kirihara seemed so long ago. Wondering if he even knew where his phone was, Kamio went on a hunt in the living room. He found an extra pair of Sachiko's socks under the couch cushions, and the crayons Miki said she lost were located behind the TV, but there was no sign of his phone. He mock-glared at Miki as he walked through the kitchen, checking the counters.

"What?" Miki asked.

He held up the dusty box of crayons. "Look familiar?"

She squealed and clapped her hands. He rolled his eyes. "Not so fast, short and cute," he said, pulling the crayons out of her reach. "Any idea how they got behind the TV?"

"Lingling," she said decisively, nodding her head.

"Really," Kamio replied. "Lingling put your crayons behind the TV."

"Yep."

"Even though Lingling's mouth can't even pick up a stuffed mouse half the size of your box of crayons."

"Huh?" Miki looked confused.

Kamio sighed and dropped the box next to her. "Never mind," he said. "Did either of you guys see my phone?"

"Check your schoolbag!" Both girls shouted, and Kamio grinned. Whenever they asked him where their things were, his first answer was always 'check your schoolbag.'

"Well, at least I know you're listening," he admitted, and headed back to the living room. His phone wasn't in his bag, but a quick check of his pockets revealed it hiding in his warm-up jacket. He scrolled through the numbers, found Kirihara's and pushed 'dial'.

"Kirihara-kun? Are you still at home?" Kamio breathed out a sigh of relief as Kirihara replied he was. "Oh, good, I caught you in time. Look, I can't meet you for a game today. My sisters are home sick with the chicken pox and I'm on 'no-scratch' guard duty. But I definitely want to play another time, okay?" He listened and grinned. "Great! Thanks, Kirihara-kun. Sorry to drop this on you last minute. See you next week!"

He hung up just in time to hear Sachiko say, 'oops' in the kind of tine he always dreaded hearing, and headed off to mop up a puddle of soup, Kirihara and their match promptly shoved to the back of his mind.

**o0o o0o o0o**

"Thank the gods for the exhausting powers of healing," Kamio murmured. He hated it when his sisters were sick, but he couldn't deny how much he was loving the idea of afternoon naps. The girls were settled in bed, his homework was done for the weekend, the housework was all caught up and for one blessed moment, he had absolutely _nothing_ to do.

"I wonder what's on TV," he wondered aloud. Snagging a soda from the fridge and the rare bag of chips he sometimes bought as a treat to add to the girls lunches, he had just settled down for a well-deserved TV break when there was a knock on the door. He scowled. "Of _course_."

Kamio pushed himself up and went to the door. Peeking through the spyhole, he gaped in astonishment. After a minute, he opened the door wide, and blurted out, "Kirihara!"

Kirihara Akaya stood on the front stoop, tennis bag draped over one shoulder, his other hand raised in greeting. "Yo!"

**o0o o0o o0o**

**End chapter 7**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually know some kids who grew up like this, with parents living off welfare and government assistance, and spending all their time out drinking, at the Casino, or playing Bingo, of all things. So if anyone wants to know why Kamio's getting away with this, well, it's pathetically easy if you know the tricks. Sad, no?
> 
> Feedback always welcome!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirihara at Kamio's house! More building of a friendship – let me know if it seems natural, or rushed, or if it's dragging out too much. :)

**Title:** Life Goes On, 8/?

 **Author:** Stormy1x2 ( travelingstorm )

 **Pairing:** Eventual KxK

 **Warning:** None

 **Word Count:** 3684

**o0o o0o o0o**

Kirihara Akaya knew going into it that his third year at Rikkai was going to be much harder then his previous two. In one fell swoop, he went from being the pampered baby of the Regulars, to the Buchou of a group of tennis players whom he didn't know very well, and who didn't respect him nearly as much as they had Yukimura and Sanada.

In fact, Kirihara knew a great many of his new charges resented the fact that he was in charge, no doubt remembering how violent Akaya had been the previous years. He could count on one hand the number of people left on the team whom he hadn't threatened at some point. One could argue that Sanada had been just as physical with the team as Akaya had been, but he had been in an authoritative position, while Akaya had just been a brat acting out.

When the dust settled after the third years left, and Akaya had been placed in charge, he'd discovered that while they would listen to him, they obviously didn't like him very much. He was commanding their obedience primarily because he was the one who decided who would be a Regular, not because they wanted to please him. There would be no bonds of friendship like the ones he'd forged the years before with his teammates. This year, he was on his own, and Akaya was finding it very lonely.

His Regulars were nowhere near the threat the Three Demons of Rikkai had been, and his doubles teams were good, but they still fell way behind the bar set by Niou and Yagyuu, or even Marui and Jackal. They needed a lot of work before Akaya would even consider them having a decent shot at the Nationals this year. It was a daunting prospect.

The match against Fudomine had gone about as well as he had expected. His D1 and D2 pairs had lost, but thankfully his D2 pair had scraped out a closer score then he'd anticipated, losing six games to four as opposed to the six games to one his D1 had managed. He had figured Fudomine, a decent team in the past, would be even better this year. They had the same advantage that Rikkai had had last year in that all their Regulars save for one were third years.

His own match with Shinji had been a tough battle, but Akaya had won anyway. Shinji's Spot technique had nearly tripped him up, until Akaya had managed to work it off during a court change. After that, he'd worked on controlling the spin of the ball to keep Shinji's attack at bay. It had been hard work, but he'd eked out a victory, six games to four, in the end. If nothing else, that match had rekindled his desire to learn how to be a Nittoryu player. He'd mastered the Pinnacle of Hard Work in under a month – he was confident that switch-handed playing was just another technique he could learn if he worked hard enough.

Fudomine beat Rikkai five wins to two, which had been guessed at in advance. But the aftermath of the exhibition match had come right out of left field. Kirihara had been astonished when Kamio Akira had walked up to him and asked him if he was all right.

He'd been tired, in mild pain from his shoulder (it still flared up now and then ever since his collision with a pole during the Invitationals that summer) and just plain heart sick. His 'teammates' had left without a word – had it not been a rule that no one could leave until all the matches had been played, he had no doubt they would have left during his game with Shinji. After packing up his gear, he'd taken a look at the empty court, at the sight of his teammate's walking away without a backwards glance, and had watched Fudomine cluster around each other, laughing and joking like he used to with his sempai, and his knees had just given out. He probably would have sat on that bench until nightfall, lost in memories of happier years, had Kamio not brought him out of it by expressing simple concern for a fellow player.

Kamio Akira amused him, Kirihara had decided. He had been a firecracker of a player the year before, all red hair and shouting and dramatic gestures, but it seemed that Captaincy had tamed him somewhat. And what he'd said - _"You're not the same person you were back then"_ \- had really broken through Akaya's shell. The Fudomine Captain had seen what his own teammates could not. _I don't hate you_. A sentiment he would have understood and expected from Kamio, but didn't receive. Instead, he faced it from those he was meant to lead. The irony of the situation didn't escape him.

Then came the invitation to play a match at the street court. He'd actually arrived about an hour before Kamio, but had elected to watch, and see who showed up. He'd missed Kamio's arrival, having been absorbed in silently mocking the game by the Midoriyama players – that was one team his ragtag group would be able to beat at least – but Momoshiro was too loud for anyone to not notice. Kamio had played Echizen – a decent enough match. He'd made the Seigaku brat work hard for his victory, too – he didn't remember Kamio being so fast before.

He'd waited until Momo, Echizen and An had left before making his way over and revealing himself to the other boy. Their match had been harder then he'd thought it would be. He'd noticed the other boy holding back. Whether it had been a conscious gesture or not, he'd found himself trying to pull out Kamio's real potential, and he'd been stunned at the speed and power Kamio was packing away inside that deceptively fragile body of his. It had been fun. Ever since Kirihara had worked to exorcise his demons that summer, he'd found games with respectable opponents to be more rewarding then they'd been before. There was no longer any clamoring in his head for blood, no desire to deliberately inflict pain on the other player. It was too bad no one – save for a few like his old teammates, and apparently Kamio – could see the change inside him.

Then there was Miki. Akaya would never say he was fond of children, but there was something about Kamio's little sister that had made him act – dare he say it – _playful_ , in front of her. Hell, he'd even watched his language around her! That was a minor miracle in itself. Renji had once told him he'd despaired of ever getting Kirihara to keep his language at a PG rating. Sanada had just told him the day he got disqualified for mouthing off to a referee or an opponent, was the day he'd wash his mouth out with soap, but until then, he didn't care.

If the game had surprised him, then the offer of a drink afterward had stunned him. It was one thing to ask a fellow player to have a game. But Akaya had always thought only friends invited each other to hang out. Since the third years had left for the high school, Kirihara hadn't 'hung out' with anyone. He was surprised at how much he missed the social interaction Marui and Niou had forced on him. Even Yukimura-Buchou had lectured him on the importance of team bonding and dragged them out once every few weeks for what he called 'team-building' activities (but Niou had claimed were exercises in sadism).

When Kamio had extended the invitation for a rematch, he'd fairly jumped at the chance. It had been so long since he'd actively looked forward to making anything remotely resembling a friend – he'd thought for sure his face was going catch fire when he'd tried to think of a casual way to ask for Kamio's phone number, and wound up just shoving his phone in Kamio's face.

But then he'd called that morning and canceled. Akaya was not secure enough in his ability to retain civil relationships with people, and had been sure he'd just been brushed off. Which had then prompted his call to Yanagi-sempai, who had – after insisting on knowing the reason why he needed the information – called him back with Kamio's address. Akaya didn't really want to know how Yanagi-sempai was able to ferret out such information, but he'd enjoyed the chance to reconnect with his sempai, and Yanagi had promised to drop by the courts sometime next week to see how they were doing, maybe even bringing Sanada or Yukimura along.

Not that he wanted his Buchou to see what a mess he was making of this new team of his, but he couldn't deny the excitement that welled up in his chest at the thought of seeing his old friends again. He really hadn't thought going to high school was almost like going to another country, in terms of how often they were able to see each other.

Anyway, all of these thoughts and actions had led him to this moment, standing on Kamio's front porch, one hand inches away from the doorbell, and all it would take was one single press to gain the attention of those who dwelled within. The problem was, Akaya couldn't make himself do it.

What if Kamio wasn't home? What if he'd lied just to get out of playing another match with him, and was gone out with other, _real_ friends? That would only prove Kirihara had gotten his hopes up for nothing. Then again, what if he _was_ home, that he _had_ been telling the truth about his sisters being sick? Would Kamio think that he had thought he'd been lying? Would he be angry and accuse Akaya of 'checking'?

Because in a way he was. But that wasn't the only reason, he told himself again. He had nothing else planned for the day, he didn't want to stay home, and it sounded like Kamio was stuck with nothing to do either. Wasn't that what friends did - combat boredom together? Beside, Kamio had said something about coming over another time or day if he wanted to, right?

Kirihara pressed his lips together, huffed internally, and then finally banged his fist against the doorbell. He heard footsteps shuffling behind the door, and then it swung open, and Kamio stood there wide-eyed, blurting his name in surprise.

Kirihara did the only thing he could think of. Raising his hand in a kind of wave, he smiled hesitantly and said, "Yo!"

**o0o o0o o0o**

Well, so far things seemed to be going well. After gaping slack-jawed like a dying fish for a minute, Kamio had invited him in – and then abruptly slammed his hand against the door, preventing Kirihara from entering.

"...Huh?"

"Have you had the chicken pox?" Kamio demanded, eyes wide, finger thrust at Kirihara's nose.

Akaya nodded mutely, staring cross-eyed at the the shorter boy.

"Good." And just like that, Kamio's mood changed again, and the red-haired boy waved him into the house.

It wasn't huge, by any means. Kirihara figured the living room was about the size of his bedroom. But it was clean, the worn furniture obviously patched numerous times over the years. Kamio made a motion towards the sofa and Kirihara sat down on the end.

"Have some chips," Kamio said, sinking onto the other end of the couch. "Eat 'em now, 'cause when the monsters get up, they'll want some too, and you'll lose fingers trying to fight them for it."

"You have two sisters, you said?" Kirihara reached for the bag – spicy nacho Doritos, his favorite – and snagged a handful, taking care not to spill any crumbs.

"Sachiko and Michiko. Sachi's eight, and Michi's the one you met last week, of course. She's six."

"Where's your parents?" Kirihara asked automatically, and was surprised when Kamio paused for a second, face blank, and then shrugged.

"Mom's... out. And my dad died five years ago."

Talk about putting your foot in your mouth. Kirihara groaned internally. "Shit man, I'm sorry. I didn't, you know..." he trailed off miserably, wondering if he'd already blown this new friendship with his insensitivity.

But Kamio appeared to be taking it in stride. "No problem, it's not like you knew," he said, a small smile on his face. "It was a long time ago."

"What happened?"

"Cancer," Kamio said quietly.

"Oh." Kirihara shoved a Dorito in his mouth. Deciding to change the subject, he gestured at the TV. "Whatcha watching?"

"Absolutely nothing," Kamio said. "I just sat down when you rang the doorbell – I don't even know what's on TV anymore. I can't remember the last time I was home on a Sunday afternoon."

Kirihara grinned tentatively. "AJW is on," he informed the other. He was delighted when a grin sparked on Kamio's face. Kirihara was a big fan of All Japan Wrestling, but his sempai never understood the complexities surrounding his favorite 'sport' after tennis. He was always on the lookout for a fellow fan.

They watched wrestling for most of the afternoon. Kamio didn't know many of the wrestlers by name, but Kirihara was more then willing to fill him in on the details, and despite the pained grimace Kamio sported after one of the wrestlers fell between the barbed wire, opening up deep gashes along the ribcage, he seemed to be enjoying it.

A break in the action came in the form of a commercial, and that was when Kirihara was introduced to Sachiko.

She came padding into the room, all sleepy-eyed and drowsy, homing in on her big brother like a beacon. Kamio didn't say anything – just opened his arms, and she snuggled into the sofa with him. After a minute, she popped her eyes open again, a little more awake this time, and focused on Kirihara.

"Who's that?" she asked warily.

"That's Kirihara-san," Kamio told her. "He's a friend of mine."

Kirihara felt that same little thump of happiness in his chest at the simple declaration, and he waggled his fingers at Sachiko in greeting. "Hey, Sachiko-chan."

She looked him up and down, and then stared at the tennis bag by his feet. Recognition suddenly blossomed on her face. "You beat Shinji-niichan," she blurted out.

Akaya blinked, looking at Kamio who shrugged. "Uh... yeah. I did."

"You must be good," she said, matter-of-factly. "Almost nobody can beat Shinji-niichan. Or 'Kira-nii," she added, and Kamio grinned, ruffling her hair.

"Thanks, Sachi."

"Yeah, thanks Sachi," Kirihara echoed, smirking. "Do you play tennis yet?"

"Mmmm, sometimes 'Kira-nii plays with me when there's no one else," she said. "I'm not very good yet, but I will be. An-chan says I have potato-cial."

"That's potential, Sachi," Kamio chuckled.

"Yeah, that." She buried her head against Kamio's chest, and he lay a hand across her back.

"What's the matter, kiddo?"

"S'hot," she said, her voice muffled by Kamio's t-shirt. "And itchy."

"I figured as much," he sighed. "Bath?"

"Uh-huh."

Kamio shot Kirihara an apologetic look as he stood up. Sachiko got to her feet on the sofa and attached herself to her brother's back. "I'll be back down in a minute, okay? Just gotta run the water for her."

"I'm good here," Kirihara told him. He watched with interest at the interesting interaction he was witnessing. Definitely more parent-child then brother-sister.

Kirihara did not have much experience with children. The little he did stemmed from numerous family reunions where older cousins and relatives dumped their spawn on him and headed off to lose themselves in the toxic waste his Aunt Kokie dared to call 'punch', leaving him in charge of dozens of ankle-biting nose-pickers. 'Children' his ass – 'shrieking, violent howler monkeys with the tendency to bite' was more accurate. Oh, sometimes they were cute enough – usually when they were sleeping. But that calm state never lasted long, unless he snagged the basement TV and DVD recorder and claimed it first. Then he could put in one of the many kids videos that could be found in the numerous purses and diaper bags his family sported, and the kids would be lost in a wide-eyed drooling haze of ugly purple dinosaurs and ugly furry things with shapes on their heads.

But these kids didn't seem so bad. Michiko was cute enough – and as an added bonus, she hadn't cried, screamed or demanded that someone buy her something when he saw her. And Sachiko, despite being half-asleep and sick with chicken pox to boot, appeared to be rather quick-minded and intelligent.

He'd have to watch his temper, he thought with a sigh. If he wanted to be friends with Kamio – and he _did_ – then he had to make the speed freaks siblings like him. Like Kamio had told him the week before, they were a package deal.

Kirihara had wandered over his thoughts several times – including an odd romp through a thought strand that made him think of how this situation resembled someone trying to date a single 'mother' of two – by the time Kamio came back. This time, however, he had Michiko perched on his hip, _looking just like his earlier thought,_ and Kirihara fiercely bit back the snicker that threatened to escape.

Kamio looked somewhat apologetically at him. "Mind if we watch something else?" he asked, and Kirihara blinked.

"Huh?" He glanced at the TV and saw a wrestler smack another in the head with a chair, and he snatched up the remote. "Sure, no prob. What do you want it on?"

"Card Captor Sakura," Michiko said around the thumb in her mouth.

"Is... whatever that is, even on?" Kirihara asked blankly.

Kamio shook his head. "Not a clue," he said, heading for the small collection of VHS tapes neatly stacked on the shelf lining the wall. "But since we have the movie on tape, it doesn't really matter." He waved the box. "It's her favorite."

"Oh." Kirihara watched as Kamio set Miki down and fiddled with the old VHS player under the TV. However, he didn't expect her to come over and climb up next to him, leaning against his side, her head tilted on to his chest, her thumb in her mouth. He froze, somewhat speechless. "Uh..."

Kamio looked back and _grinned_ , the traitor. "Guess Miki-chan likes you," he laughed, and he only laughed harder when Miki nodded her head vigorously.

Kirihara glared and mouthed _you'll pay for this_ in Kamio's direction, but didn't move.

By the time the movie ended, they both had girls snuggled up next to them. Sachiko had come down in her pajamas halfway through, and curled up with her brother. Michiko was asleep again, but Sachiko was complaining about starving to death, so Kamio got up and headed for the kitchen. He paused in the doorway though, turning around.

"Did you want to stay for dinner?" He asked. He was shy about asking – that much Kirihara could see. The blush on Kamio's cheeks was getting darker, and he grinned, standing up.

"Nah, I gotta get going. I told my mom I'd be home in time for dinner. Maybe next time?"

"Sure," Kamio said, and Kirihara couldn't be sure, but he could have sworn there was a hint of relief on the other boy's face.

"'Kiri-niichan is going?" Michiko woke up, one tiny fist rubbing her eyes.

"Yeah, kiddo," Akaya said, crouching down. "Can I come back another time?"

"Yes," she yawned, and promptly went back to sleep. Kirihara chuckled and stood back up. He looked over at Sachiko who was still watching him curiously. Apparently he hadn't won her over completely yet. Michiko had the naturally trusting nature of most young children, but Sachiko was obviously waiting to see some real substance to his character.

He waved at her anyway. "Bye, Sachiko, It was nice to meet you."

She nodded, and waved back shyly, before ducking her head and pushing her face against the sofa cushions.

"She's just shy around new people," Kamio said quietly, as he waited by the door. Kirihara put his sneakers on and hoisted his tennis bag up on his shoulder. Why he'd even brought it was beyond him, but then again, you never knew when you could run into a match. "And she's not feeling well. She'll be better next time."

"I had fun," Akaya said suddenly. He felt the tips of his ears turn red, but he forged ahead anyway. "I mean, I haven't had the chance to just, you know – hang out, or anything, since my sempai all graduated."

"Must be a lonely year for you," Kamio commented, looking sympathetic.

Kirihara shrugged, looking away. "Yeah, maybe," he allowed. "But don't you dare spread it around!" His head snapped back up as he barked his words out – and then instantly regretted it.

But Kamio again took everything in stride. "I wouldn't tell anyone," he said calmly. "But I think it's common knowledge – I mean, all your teammates are gone. Who wouldn't be even just a little lonely in that situation?" He shuddered at the thought. "I know I would be. I don't think I could handle it as well as you seem to be."

Kirihara let a dark laugh escape him before he could stop himself. "I don't always handle things so well," he said roughly. "But anyway, thanks."

"For what?" Kamio looked puzzled.

"...nothing." Kirihara grinned. Kamio had no clue just how pathetically grateful he was to have someone act like a friend to him, and it would just spoil the fun to tell him that now. That, and he'd probably scare Kamio off with his level of desperation. "I'm out. Later, Kamio."

"Bye Kirihara!" Kamio waved from the porch. Kirihara whistled as he broke into a jog once he hit the main road.

He wondered if Kamio realized he'd dropped the honorific, and then secretly hoped that it had been deliberate.

**o0o o0o o0o**

End chapter 8.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Stormy denies she was ever a huge wrestling fan. stuffs mountains of VHS tapes of 6 different independent federations, PPVS, circuits and over 700 wrestling magazines dating back to 1979 into a closet already bulging with wrestling memorabilia, including t-shirts and autographed hats )
> 
> Feedback makes me write more. Just sayin'. winks
> 
> edited 03/28/2008 When there's a 7 month lapse in writing, you're bound to make a few continuity errors. Hopefully I've fixed them all now. Thank you for the friendly point-outs!

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: This fic is largely Fudoumine-centric with heavy mentions of Rikkai later on. Pairings are insignificant at the moment but yes, I already know what they are. Too bad you don't – not until much later. :)
> 
> From what I understand, Kamio does have two younger sisters, but I don't know their names. I've borrowed names from all over the place – other animes, and anime seiyuu's. In fact, Kamio's elderly neighbour is named after Ryoma's voice actress, Minagawa Junko.
> 
> Also, Kamio's home life – as well as the life of any other character – is largely based on speculation and imagination. Take nothing as actual canon.
> 
> Additional: I'm using certain Japanese words in this fic mainly because they don't have an English equivalent (i.e., Kikumaru's 'Nya' sounds, or honorifics). In Canada, as co-captain of my high school basketball team, my team did not come to me calling "Captain! Captain!" They used my given name, which is a no-no in Japan, and to write dialog where the characters call each other 'Captain' and 'Vice-captain' sounds really, really idiotic. So, 'Buchou' and 'Fukou-buchou' remain, as do most honorifics. I cannot for the life of me, type out out a scene where Ohtori refers to Shishido without the '-san' and I refuse to have him say 'Mr Shishido'. Same goes for 'nii-chan' – no one I know goes around shouting 'brother' and/or 'sister' because we use given names. Since they don't do that in Japan, I've left the term in.
> 
> I'm also using the word 'bento' because again, in Canada, the word 'lunch-box' brings to mind a plastic or metal container with a sandwich in a baggie, a bag of chips or cookies, a piece of fruit and a can of pop or a juice bottle. Calling a 'bento' a lunch-box is an insult. Bento's are beautifully and artfully prepared with actual nutritious meals, wrapped and presented to the person they're intended for with real feeling involved. A bento is more then a mere lunch-box, and since there is no real English equivalent, it will stay in Japanese form. Also, as for the prep of the bento, I'm basically using meals and items I've seen portrayed in various anime series, since my personal experience lies solely with Canadian, American and Chinese cuisine.
> 
> Any other words that pop up will have a similar reason behind it.
> 
> Future author notes will most certainly not be this length. :) However, the chapters definitely will be longer (this is one of the shortest ones I've done in a long time – more a prologue then an actual chapter).


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